The Art of Broken Pieces
by singedbylife
Summary: Canon AU season 6. A Theon/Sansa fic. Expect lots of angst, hurt/comfort and bumps on the road. These two had such great chemistry thanks to Alfie Allen and Sophie Turner's wonderful acting and I want them to be happy.
1. Chapter 1

Yara stood on the deck, her heart still pounding in her chest after their run towards the boats. Her first mate was already at the wheel, men were shouting orders, and as she turned and gazed out over the sea, she saw her fleet with hundreds of loyal men on scores of the best of the Iron Islands' ships. And all were making sails to go follow her as their leader.

Escaping might not have been what she had hoped for when she entered the Kingsmoot, but it was what she had planned for. Naturally, she hadn't foreseen that she would be losing the Kingsmoot to her uncle. Nor that he openly admitted that he had murdered her father.

While it was true that there was no love lost between Yara and Balon, he had been her father, and more importantly he had been the King of the Iron Islands. The ironborn had chosen Euron Greyjoy over Balon Greyjoy's eldest heir simply because in their eyes choosing a kinslayer was better than choosing a woman. Yara knew the Kingsmoot didn't represent the real ironborn. A ireal/i ironborn worked on the sea. Those who had called out Euron's name were fools who had all stayed ashore for too long. Yes, it was true that an ironborn paid the ironprice, but never without using his or her head first. Yara didn't want to rule idiots and when she returned those men would rue the day, they had chosen Euron Greyjoy over her. If any of the stories about her uncle were true, they would rue it sooner than that, which was a small comfort.

For a few, short moments before her uncle had arrived and made his proclamation, she had thought it would be Theon she would be running away from. Gaunt and small, Theon might be, but despite everything that had been done to him, Theon had given a compelling speech. And he had kept his word and supported her. In the end, she had been half afraid that he would crumble in front of the gathering. She could see how close he was, but he had not, and for the first time in her life, she had been proud of her little brother. And grateful. Then her uncle had come and as Theon and Yara locked eyes while the ironborn chanted their "Euron! Euron! Euron!" they both knew they had lost. Madness and bloodthirst were already in the air. As Aeron Damphair held his sermon prior to the baptism and coronation, Yara led Theon away. She told him of the fleet waiting outside the bay, and together they had made a hasty retreat along with those of Yara's crew who had also been present at the Kingsmoot. They emerged onto the beach via the old King's Rift known only to a few men outside of Balon Greyjoy's stronghold. The rest of the Iron Fleet were waiting off shore well away and out of sight from the Kingsmoot hill.

Her eyes roamed Black Wind's deck and her gaze found her brother among the rest of her crew. Theon was skinny and battered looking, but he did his best to help the men set sails and her heart swelled at the sight. Yet as he pulled the ropes along with the other men, she couldn't help but notice the way he sometimes winced or moved in stiff, somewhat jerky motions; as if he had to force his body to obey him. Yara knew that his apparent clumsiness wasn't simply due to the fact that Theon had never truly worked aboard one of the ironborn ships. For a man mostly grown up inland, he seemed to know his way around a ship surprisingly well. No, it had to be what he was hiding underneath his clothes which caused him trouble. He had to be hurt from the torture in the hands of that Bolton bastard. She had noticed that Theon was missing a finger. He'd never once taken off his gloves in front of her in the time he'd been back and maybe he missed more than one? Perhaps the bastard had taken some of his toes as well? From the way Theon carried himself, Yara reckoned he had to have been whipped, too. She frowned but didn't interrupt him in his work. If her men were to respect Theon, she couldn't mollycoddle him. But even among the ironborn, a wounded man wasn't expected to work as hard as the rest of the men, and neither would her brother be.

As soon as the ships were well on their way, Yara grabbed Theon by the arm. She clenched her jaw in dismay when he flinched at the unexpected touch. "Come with me, brother" she said gruffly and dragged him along with her below deck.

Theon stood forlornly inside her cabin as Yara roamed through her small sea chest. "Here," she exclaimed triumphantly and turned towards him flashing a stoppered, stoneware jar. The smelly salve inside it worked small miracles on wounds, scars, and sore muscles and she hadn't paid the iron price for it, either. She had given the healer what he demanded fair and square after learning firsthand on her own body how well the greasy ointment worked. Besides, if you always paid the iron price there'd be no healers, fishermen, or farmers left. Yara had no need of jewelry or fine clothes, but medicines were essential and she would never pay any iron price for such items.

She unstoppered the jar. "Take off your clothes," she said.

"What? No," Theon said, pushing back against the wall. He wouldn't meet her eyes which angered her.

"Take off your clothes, brother. I saw how you winced with each step up on deck. This will help you feel better. Trust me. Off they go."

"Please," he whispered. "I don't want to. I don't want you to see."

Yara laughed trying to disarm him. "You don't have anything I haven't seen before."

At Theon's downcast gaze, she frowned.

"That's not what I referred to, Theon.

"Listen to me, I've seen men with worse injuries than yours, I'm sure. I've treated men with parts torn off or hacked away. What you have or haven't got is nothing new to me. Besides, I'm your sister. Let me help you."

"Please, I don't want your help. Let me put it on myself," he said. He breathed unsteadily. "I don't want to take my clothes off in front of you. Please."

By now, he was shaking. tremors were running over his body, and miniscule nerves twitched under the thin, bruised looking skin below his eyes. Yara wanted to scream at him. Or throw something hard against the walls. Instead she placed the jar back inside the chest, and walked over to him. She took hold of his face gently, her thumbs stroking a few stray tears away from his hollow cheeks.

"Shhh, Theon, you have nothing to fear," she said. "I will be quick about it. You're in pain, little brother. No, don't deny it. And you can't put this on your own back. And I know you try your best to hide it, but you don't seem to be able to move much without causing yourself more pain. Let me do this for you, Theon, please. You can keep your smallclothes on," she added hastily. "You don't have to get naked in front of me."

The look of gratitude and relief on his face hurt to look at, but he nodded once and so she deftly began to untie the leather strings on his armor to think of something else.

"I can do this myself," he muttered which made Yara smile crookedly. She had a sudden memory of helping Theon dress, when he was just a little boy and she had been no more than a gangly teen. Most of the time Theon had been an annoying little brat like all young brothers, she figured, but he'd also been such a happy, little boy. Always laughing and up to no good unless their father or elder brothers were around. Theon had been their mother's favorite, but Yara had loved him. It was impossible not to. She still loved him.

As the shirt slipped over Theon's shoulders and covered his head, Yara did her best to remain calm.

Theon's entire upper body was covered in scars. Not just from whippings, but from what looked like random knife cuts, flayings, and even brandings. A large X had been branded into each of his upper arms and the lines of one more was showing just above his britches on his lower back. His right nipple had been cut or torn off which made her swallow hard. The many scars from the flayings had healed into gnarled messes which had to pull at his skin whenever he moved and turned. Where the skin wasn't ruined, it was smooth and soft. Like that of a young man's. Something suddenly stung her eyes and her vision became blurry and she had to blink a few times to get her sight back.

She had been wrong when she told Theon, that she had seen worse injuries than his. If she had, they had all been on dead bodies, not on a young, living, and breathing one. The Bolton bastard would pay.

Theon removed his gloves. His faced was a little flushed and his hair was a mess and she had to fight back a sudden urge to smooth it. As she had expected, only one finger was missing. A few nails were growing back though and she guessed the gloves help protect the sore fingertips. As he removed his boots and britches, she noticed that all of his toes were intact apart from nails missing there as well, but his feet bore marks of having been penetrated and broken. His legs were as lacerated and covered in scars as his upper body had been.

"Go lie down on the bed. I'll do your back and legs first," she said in a hushed voice.

He didn't look up at her at all as he went over to the bed and stretched out on his stomach. She took the jar, sat down next to him and smeared some of the lotion on her palms allowing the ointment to warm up a bit. Then she began to rub it gently into Theon's back. At first, he was rigid but gradually as she talked about old times, about going to Meereen, and nothing at all, he began to relax. By the time, she reached his feet, he had fallen asleep. When she was done with his backside, she covered his body with her blanket.

"I'll do your chest tomorrow then, brother," she whispered and kissed his hair lightly before leaving the cabin.

Theon woke up feeling warm and comfortable. For a few moments, he lay completely still enjoying the novel sensation before realizing he wasn't where he was supposed to be. This was Yara's cabin, Yara's bed, and her blanket that was covering him. This was not right. He should be up on deck working, or at least in one of the hammocks in the crew's quarters. He had to go find her and apologize to her.

He got out of bed and quickly got dressed. It wasn't until he pulled on his long boots that he noticed that he had dressed without hurting. The mixture Yara had rubbed into his back had stung at first, but it had slowly begun to almost numb his skin and warm his sore back. For a brief moment, he contemplated removing his shirt once more to add some of the ointment to his chest himself but he decided against it. Yara might not want him to and he couldn't just take her salve without asking her permission? He had to hurry and find her and let her know that it had been a mistake that he had fallen asleep and that he was still here and that he was very sorry. His heart began to race and he felt terrified, until he belatedly remembered that she was his sister. She would not punish him, would she? He grabbed the door for support in order to steady himself a bit and took a few deep breaths before he went out the narrow door.

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

After well over two weeks onboard the Black Wind, they reached the Free City of Volantis. The weather had been fair, and the voyage free of trouble.

Yara's men had mostly avoided Theon. Or perhaps he had avoided them.

He didn't know how to engage with people anymore and in all honesty he didn't want to. When he looked at other men, all he saw were possible threats. He felt as if every snicker had to be at his expense, and every angry sneer directed his way. But it wasn't the loathing or the laughter itself that got to him; he had known nothing else for years after all. No, it was the accompanying gut-wrenching fear he always felt deep inside of him when he looked into their hard eyes. Laughter didn't hurt a man, but another man could. He was exhausted from feeling afraid all the time, but couldn't find a way out.

The first day after he had woken up in Yara's cabin he had found her and apologized to her and told her that he would sleep in the crew's quarters from now on, but she had told him a firm no. "You might not want to be one, Theon, but you are a prince of the Iron Islands and you are my brother. I want you close to me." She had given him the cabin next to hers and despite his offer to stay with her men, it was a relief to sleep in his own room. He didn't know what would have happened to him in those crowded, dark quarters along with the rest of the crew but he was certain it couldn't be good. They had to despise him. He despised himself. It would not end well.

Giving him his own cabin was a waste of bed, though as he could only fall asleep on the floor. He had fallen asleep in Yara's bed only because of exhaustion. He had had no strength left in him after having had to not only present himself in person to the ironborn at the Kingsmoot, but also to say his name out loud in front of them and speak up on Yara's behalf. He had done his best not to let it show how much the public display affected him and he had barely been able to compose himself before they had had to flee. As soon as they boarded Yara's ship, he had done his best to help the crew. But when they were well on their way and Pyke was disappearing in the distance for the third time in his life and he had ended up on his sister's bed, he had all but passed out. However since then, he had not been able to find any true rest on a bed. After years of sleeping on nothing but hard stones and saltires, the softness was almost impossible to bear. He felt as if he was being smothered when he lay down on the soft surface. As if its very sides were closing in on him, engulfing him. Swallowing him whole.

No, beds only reminded him of things best not spoken of.

At first, Yara had gotten angry at him when she had found him on the floor. He had said nothing when she had told him in a tired voice that Greyjoys weren't dogs. He knew what he was. As it were, even if she might not believe it, he had never slept any better than on that cabin floor. When he lay down to rest at night, it was in the knowledge that on the other side of the wall slept his sister. He had been alone for so long and now he wasn't. The cabin floor was dry and made of wooden, planed out planks. The ship was gently rocking him to and fro and he had a warm blanket and a soft pillow. It was more than he had hoped for in a long time. It was more than he deserved. But he couldn't tell her any of this without angering her.

Yara's frequent treatments of his injuries, both the old ones and the more recent ones, helped. Naturally his body remained gnarled and ugly, but he didn't care about his looks. The ruined skin felt softer and was more flexible than before and that was all that mattered. By now he could twist, and move almost painlessly during his turns on the deck and he could work for longer periods of time. He still wasn't quite as strong as he used to be, and he became tired before the rest of the men which he tried to hide. But Yara kept a watchful eye on him and more than once during their voyage, she ordered him down below to get something to eat and to rest.

Now that the fleet had docked in Volantis, Yara had asked him to join her for a visit to the city. He had not wanted to go but Yara had been adamant. Docilely, he'd scampered after her and the rest of her men. "They are not my men, Theon. They are our men," she had insisted earlier when he had accidentally referred to them as such. Yara might think so, but he knew better as they all did. He was done believing that anything or anyone was "his" a long time ago.

He didn't ask any questions when they entered the tavern, but as soon as Yara had seated him at a table and left him on his own, he regretted coming here. It was not a tavern; it was a whorehouse. The sounds and sights of lustful men and prostitutes, the raunchy laughter, the smell of sex and sweat; it all got to him and he felt as if he might suffocate as his senses and memories were attacked relentlessly. He was getting more and more panic-stricken the longer he sat there but finally Yara sat down next to him, a whore in tow. It wasn't a surprise for him to see his sister with a woman on her lap but he wished she wouldn't have brought her with her to their table. He needed a moment alone with his sister. All he could do was worry and feel hunted and yet here he was in a noisy public brothel. With a sigh, Yara sent the woman away and commented on the woman's ass as she walked away from them. Yara turned towards him and asked him good-naturedly, "it doesn't interest you anymore?"

Images flashed before his eyes and none of them were welcome. Sex meant pain, and degradation, and violence, and abuse, and tears and, "I'm sorry, I won't joke about it," Yara interrupted his thoughts.

In a serious tone, she added, "I'll never hurt you, little brother. Don't you know that?"

He drew in a breath. It didn't matter if he was a joke or if he got hurt or not. But it did matter that Yara sounded as if she meant it when she said she wouldn't hurt him. He didn't know how to respond though, so he told her how he worried about their uncle Euron finding them instead. Euron would hurt them. There were so many things to worry about and they shouldn't be here, but Yara took one look at him rocking to and fro, and wouldn't have it.

"Drink," she ordered and pushed her cup towards him. Reluctantly he took a sip. Did Yara truly believe that drinking would make their problems go away?

Perhaps she did because she wanted him to drink more from the cup. He did as he was told, grimacing at the taste.

"You're ironborn, Theon." She sighed. "I know you've had some bad years."

"Bad years?" he exclaimed. He'd been a slave, tortured, abused, molested, and maimed. Had she understood nothing of what he had been through? Of what he had witnessed? Bad years.

"I'm tired of watching you cower like a beat dog. Drink the goddamn ale!"

He had no words for her, no way of fighting back, so he lifted the cup to his lips and gulped down more of the bitter ale, feeling as if he would choke.

"Now listen to me," she said. "I need you. The real Theon Greyjoy. Not this rat shit pretender. Can you find him for me?"

Find whom? There was no real Theon Greyjoy.

"Drink!" she demanded, and helplessly he drank again.

"You escaped, do you hear me? You got away and you're never going back! We'll get justice for you."

Justice. "If I got justice, my burnt body would hang over the gates of Winterfell." It was a truth that cut him like a knife every day but a truth all the same.

"Fuck justice then! We'll get revenge. Drink!"

He drank some more, but all he wanted was to lie down and cry his eyes out.

"Listen to me, if you're so broken that there's no coming back, take a knife and cut your wrists. End it!" Her words gutted him. She meant them. He had often thought them himself.

"But if you're staying, Theon, I need you." Her voice got quieter, more insistent.

"We're gonna sail to Meereen. We're gonna make a pact with this "Dragon Queen" and we're gonna take back the Iron Islands."

She placed her hand on the back of his neck and squeezed him gently. His heart beat heavily and his vision was swimming.

"Are you with me?"

He had no words. She shook him a bit, squeezed his neck a harder.

"Are you really with me?"

Oh, gods, was he? He wanted to, he really did. He had to be with her.

He lifted his head and looked her straight in the eyes and nodded. Yara's eyes were both sad and kind as she smiled at him. Then she pulled him in and kissed him on his forehead and left.

For a few moments, he sat completely still, trying to get to terms with his unspoken promise and his sister's love and demands for him. Yara expected more of him than she had seen so far, which meant that she believed that there was still hope for him.

Maybe it was the ale that got to him. He straightened his back some more and took a deep breath. All around him, whores laughed and smiled but he saw right through them. For most of his life he'd done nothing else but pretend to be someone he wasn't. Ramsay had made him believe he was really Reek but he realized with a pleasant and frightened jolt that being Reek had been a pretense too. A forced one, but a false one. Ramsay hadn't uncovered the real man inside of him.

He wanted to be a good brother. But he was not the old Theon anymore, and the Iron Islands were less important to him now than before everything went wrong. For nearly all of his life, he'd been a hostage. First he had been held hostage by honorable and just folk, who nevertheless would have taken his head, should his father rebel. It had been easy to view himself as an important and great sacrifice when he was all alone and feeling sorry for himself. Then he was captured by a monster who had broken him. But despite everything, he was still alive and he had a choice:To do good or do bad. And he wanted to do good, and out of his own volition. He wanted to do right. He had told Sansa that he could never make amends to her family for the things, he'd done. And he believed that to be true. He also knew that he would try all the same.

Dying by his own hand was not an option. He didn't deserve to get to decide for himself when his life should end. He would see his sorry life to its bitter end and live with the consequences if that was the last thing he did. But living didn't have to be only about endurance and punishment. Living was about choices and changes too. "I'm tired of watching you cower like a beat dog," Yara had told him tonight. But he was a beat dog. He would always be a beat dog. You couldn't change your past. But even a beat dog could become strong and useful again. And he would try his best to become useful. Not for Yara's sake, but for his own. And for Sansa's.

A noisy and shrill laughter rang much too close to his ear and despite himself, Theon jumped in his seat. Angry and embarrassed, he drank the last of his ale and got up and left the brothel. Yes, he would try and change but he couldn't do it as quickly nor as fully as Yara would like him to. And he couldn't do it by drinking himself into a stupor at a whorehouse.

The night air in Volantis was almost a warm as the day's and Theon loosened his collar a bit as he meandered slowly towards the docks, heading for the ship. All of his life had been spent in the cold North and he felt uncomfortable in this humid and warm place. At least he wasn't as ill at ease out here in the fresh air as he'd been inside the tavern. Maybe the ale helped him relax a bit as well.

"M'lord! Please, ser, can you spare a coin?"

"I don't have any," he replied without looking at the beggar, and moved to continue.

"Please m'lord. If you want to, I'll let you use my body for something to eat in exchange. Some bread, or, or whichever you can spare?"

"If you're a whore, go to the brothel within the gates, and let them take you in. There is no lack of food or coin or drink in that place," he said.

"I would," she said. "But they won't hire me, m'lord. But I'm a better lay than I look, and I'll keep my mouth closed if you prefer. Or, or open, if you want me to. I know how to please a man. Please, m'lord?"

There was something about her voice and the words that made him stop in his tracks.

Slowly, he turned around to take a look at the woman hiding in the shadows along the empty dock houses. A small boy was hiding behind her. The boy had dark hair like his mother and big eyes, the colour of the sea in his too thin face. Theon swallowed. The captain's daughter. Whom he had fucked all the way on his voyage to Pyke after leaving Robb. He couldn't even remember her name. She had never been a beauty and now she was dirty, and thin. One of her cheeks had an ugly scar from a knife.

All because of me, he thought. One more victim of my follies.

He went back to her and after a moment's hesitance, crouched down beside her. The boy was his, he knew it soon as he saw him. And even if the scrawny child hadn't been, Theon realized that he would have been his obligation all the same. He held out his left hand and the boy took it hesitantly. Without asking for permission, he picked up the boy. The child didn't weigh much. The hairs on his head were soft and they tickled Theon lightly on his neck. He looked at the woman who was staring up at him, a slightly alarmed expression on her face.

"Come with me." The words were out of his mouth before he'd even given them any consideration.

"M'lord?" she asked but he offered no further explanation, and she got up and followed him.

Once they were aboard the ship with the guard grinning and lifting an eyebrow upon seeing Theon bringing a woman onboard, he took them down to his cabin.

"What's your name," he asked. "I knew it once, but I've forgotten it."

"Ea," she replied. "M'lord, do I know you?"

No, you don't, he thought.

"My name is Theon Greyjoy," he replied. He turned to watch her, the boy still heavy on his arm, apparently asleep. He watched as her face changed from puzzlement to shock to recognition. Her eyes filled with tears and he had to look away.

"My father left me in this city, when he found out I was carrying a child, m'lord. Told me I was no good to him or to anyone anymore. Said I was ruined."

She looked at the boy in Theon's arms. Her eyes shined. "I gave birth to him in an alley. It must've been his princely blood what kept him alive, don't you think?. He is strong." She sounded proud, which touched something deep inside of him.

"And I love him no matter how he came to be. I've told him stories of his lord father, the prince. How he would make me his proper salt wife as soon as he saw how sweet his little son was."

Theon was looking at her again. I can't acknowledge him, he thought. As soon as I do, he will be in danger. Maybe even from my own sister. Most of all, from my own sister.

"Will you, m'lord?"

But how could he reply otherwise? Didn't he know firsthand how badly things could go, if a son wasn't loved and accepted by his father?

"I will."

tbc...


	3. Chapter 3

"Lady Sansa, wake up, please."

Sansa blinked and opened her eyes. Lady Brienne was leaning in from above her, looking concerned. Behind the Lady's tall frame, stars shone on a dwindling twilight sky.

Sansa sat up, and pulled the blanket closer around her body. The camp fire had been doused and Podrick was already busy readying their remaining horses. She had slept almost throughout the entire night despite the cold and the uncomfortable bed of dirt and pine branches and despite the fact that Theon had left them the day before.

Nightmares had woken her from time to time, of course. They always did. This last one… They were in her bedchamber and Ramsay had ordered Theon to approach the bed and… No, it bore not thinking of.

Theon…

At first, she had hated him so much that she thought she was going to be sick. Those first days after that awful girl, Myranda, had taken her to the kennels to show her Theon; in part to humiliate him further, and in part to shock Sansa, the mere sight of him creeping along the hallways, always dirty, cowering, and shaking had repulsed her. He shouldn't be alive. He had turned on them. He had taken Winterfell, betrayed her family, betrayed his friendship with Robb, but worst of all, he had murdered Bran and Rickon. And yet here he was, alive despite it all. She loathed him. He ought to be dead.

As more days went by, and she got used to the idea of Theon being alive, and here, she grew weary of watching how he was treated by the people who were now living in Winterfell. She frowned when she saw how he acted like a submissive, frightened dog all the time, and instead of a sense of righteous joy, she simply felt appalled. She wanted justice. She needed it, but a just punishment would have meant Theon being put to the sword years ago. Instead, the Boltons had kept him as their prisoner. They had obviously not been treating him kindly, and she suspected her future husband was the main reason why Theon had changed from a cocky youth to this quivering wreck of a man. Theon seemed to be Ramsay's slave more than a prisoner and Ramsay had even forced him to obey a new name, Reek. Men and women alike either ignored Theon or mocked him, and it disturbed her. She had even witnessed two of Lord Bolton's men making Theon trip and fall over while he had been carrying an armful of firewood. The men had laughed and kicked at him when he was on the ground, trying to gather the pieces of wood and get back up. A thin line of blood had been running down his face from a cut caused by the fall. And while it was usually Theon who served them dinner, he himself was clearly malnourished. The food stuck in her throat when she watched him shaking in the corner as they ate.

When he was not serving them in one way or other, he slept in the cold kennels with no blankets or enough hay to make the stone floor just a bit soft or warm, and Sansa wouldn't even have treated a dog that badly. He wore the same filthy rags day in and day out. His hair was long and greasy, his beard unkempt. Theon, who used to love fancy clothes and who always tried to look his best. Just like her, really. A very long time ago.

All of these humiliations and punishments might be the Boltons' way of just castigations, but they were not the Starks'.

Yet, Sansa didn't say anything to Lord Bolton, nor to her fiancé about her thoughts on the matter. After all, Theon had brought all of this on himself, unwittingly or not, and while she might disagree and be sickened by it, she would not step in to defend or help her brothers' murderer. But once she and Ramsay were married, she would demand that Theon's misery be put to an end, the way the Wardens of the North had always done it. But not until then.

Then came the wedding night. She vaguely remembered Theon crying and doing as he was told. She thought she remembered him whispering unintelligible words over and over, but that might have been her imagination.

All she was certain of was that he didn't lift a single finger to try and help her. She remembered seeing through blurred eyes how Ramsay, when it was finally over, had dragged a disheveled and crumbled looking Theon with him as they had left her bedchamber. The days afterwards remained an inconsistent blur. Someone placed plates with food on her table, and someone emptied her chamber pot and someone left her fresh, hot water in a bowl on the washstand. She saw very little of anything and mostly remained hidden under her blankets, trying to block out the world, and everything. Each night, Ramsay would return and hurt her.

As each new day passed and each new night meant more violent, and debasing assaults, she came to realize that it had to stop. She couldn't keep on existing like this and she knew that she had been a fool to believe in Petyr's ensnaring words. What did Petyr know anyway? Was he a woman? He was completely clueless as to how invasive and hurtful, being taken unwanted was. Just like she had been herself before the wedding night. And with Ramsay it was nothing but cruelty. It was painful, and wrong. He hurt her everywhere. Seemed to enjoy it while smiling and saying words completely at odds with what his pinching hands and body did to her. She understood that it was impossible for her to manipulate her husband in any way. He was a cruel, evil man with a heart of ice and she meant nothing to him, apart from her family name and inherited title.

She had to find a way to get away. She had to get word to those who remembered her father. Who were loyal to the Starks.

She had realized by now that it was Theon who tended to her room and served her fresh food each day but she hadn't talked to him. She understood that Theon had been devastated that first night. That he had enjoyed absolutely nothing of it. He had to help her. He had to want to help her, didn't he? Someone must get word to the people who wanted to help her. Someone must light a candle in that tower. And Theon, traitor, and murderer of her own two brothers was her only hope. But there was no other way. The old lady hadn't been back since her wedding. All who came to her room were Theon and Ramsay, and they kept her door locked whenever they weren't there. She could probably run past Theon if she tried, but the thought of running into Ramsay in one of the hallways terrified her. And she was certain that one of his men would grab hold of her. Fleeing on her own like that was a hopeless matter.

And so Sansa had asked Theon to help her and wordlessly, he had nodded his acceptance. He had insisted on being Reek, but she had believed that she had gotten through to him by grasping him firmly by his shoulders and reminding him who he truly was: Theon Greyjoy, last living son of Balon Greyjoy, heir to the Iron Islands. But she should have known that it was not that easy. Theon was not Theon anymore, and he had betrayed her, running off to tell his master almost instantly. That afternoon, when she found out in that horrible way how Theon had failed her, her hatred for him returned full scale. Theon might cry and cringe and claim to be oh so sorry, but in the end, he accepted his fate and as a consequence, he accepted hers as well. There was nothing kind or human left in Theon. He was just a dog, and a murderous liar to boot. She fronted him the day after Ramsay had killed the kind, old lady. By then, she understood that she had to save herself somehow, someway. She could not depend on Theon or Reek in any way. But she wouldn't let him off the hook without confronting him about his betrayal and so she sat waiting for him to arrive with her daily meal.

When he did enter her room, and when she had asked him why? with as much venom in her voice as she could muster, he had told her that he had helped her. Because there was "no escape." Oh, how she resented hearing those words. They could not be true. They must not be true. Someone akin to Theon had surfaced just then. Someone with a conscience. Someone whom she could hurt for betraying her because he seemingly cared for her in his own backwards way. She had felt a heady, and angry sensation of satisfaction when she threw her hateful words at him like daggers.

"If I could do to you what Ramsay did, I would!"

It was petty, she knew, but in that moment, it felt good to see how she was able to harm him. But surprisingly, though hurt, he accepted her words. He had looked so sad and sincere as he told her how he deserved to be Reek. How he deserved everything. She heard the misery in his voice when he mentioned each of his crimes and especially when he spoke Robb's name, and for a second, she almost felt bad for lashing out at him. But when he referred to her two small brothers as nothing more than "those boys" she had jumped up in angry, and wounded outrage. She had managed to corner and terrify him so much so, that for a few short moments, he had truly become Theon again. She saw a teardrop fall from his eyes as she towered over him, shouting at him. And then out of the blue, he had confessed to her in a frightened, and terrified shout that he didn't kill Bran and Rickon. It had been two farm boys.

At that very moment, time stood still. Bran and Rickon might still be alive! Ramsay had lied to her. Had made Theon lie to her as well. All of her hatred for Theon seemed to vanish and drain away in a heartbeat. Her brothers could still be out there, living and breathing! Theon was a child murderer as per his own admission, but her brothers were alive, and all she could think of and feel at that moment was stunned relief and hope.

Watching Theon, she realized it made no difference to him. He was the walking embodiment of regret for all the things he had done. Yes, there was still some Theon left inside of him when you dug hard enough, but he was Reek not only because he was forced to be so, but also because he felt he had to be. Because he truly felt he deserved whatever Ramsay did to him. Because he regretted all of his past actions and poor choices. As he fled her room, she knew that her own situation was unchanged. She had only herself to rely on if she ever wanted to get away from Ramsay Bolton. She had the corkscrew she had snatched the day before and she would find a way to pick open the lock on her chamber door and light a candle in that tower even if that was the last thing she ever managed to do. It had been several weeks since she spoke to the old lady who was now dead by the hands of her own husband. But all she could do was hope that there was still someone out there, waiting for her signal.

During the next few days, she didn't speak to Theon much but only watched him silently, as he came and went. Never once did he look up to meet her eyes. Pale and troubled looking, riddled with guilt and shame, he placed her food on the table, replaced her chamber pot, closed or opened her windows, rekindled the fire. And left without a word. She couldn't find it in her heart to hate him anymore. She didn't know what to feel about him. All she knew was that she had forgiven him. He would have never killed Bran and Rickon. And he would have never wanted for Robb or her mother to die. Like her, he had had fanciful, ridiculous dreams of titles, riches, and being the center of attention. He had committed heinous crimes along the way, but they plagued him worse than any punishment could ever do. As for him choosing his own family over hers? Were not her own mother's family's words "Family, Duty, Honor"? Things were never black and white. She knew that by now.

Then Ramsay left Winterfell one morning to do battle against Stannis Baratheon's army and she had heard and seen his men leave the castle along with him from her open window.

She acted straight away. She had succeeded in unlocking her chamber door and she had managed to reach the tower and light the candle, but on her way back, she was caught by Myranda who was having a tormented looking Theon in tow. She couldn't think of him as Reek, no matter how many times he had told her that that was his name. She didn't think that it had been Theon himself who had told Myranda that Sansa had left her room. Instead it looked as if Myranda had discovered it all by herself. Sansa should have realized that Myranda would come by and taunt her as soon as Ramsay had left Winterfell. And as Theon had the keys to her chamber, Myranda must have brought him along only to find Sansa's chamber deserted.

As Myranda threatened her in a not very subtle way, Sansa's heart was hammering in her chest. The girl was just as evil and mad as Ramsay was, and she would hurt Sansa in a heartbeat. But so be it. She told the girl that if she was going to die, she wanted it to be while there was still some of her left and she meant it. She noticed how sorrowful and sad Theon looked at her words but she dismissed his glance and kept her eyes focused on Myranda. She was certain that she was going to be pierced by Myranda's arrow any minute and though terrified, she only hoped for instant death, when Theon suddenly acted, and grabbed Myranda, pushing her hard to the side. The arrow whizzed past Sansa and she watched as Theon wrestled withh the girl and managed to push her off and over the rail of the gangway. The shriek and sound of Myranda hitting the ground below them and the complete silence afterwards made Sansa freeze. None of this was expected at all and she didn't know what to do now. All she could do was stare down at the blood pooling out around Myranda's crushed body.

It was Theon who acted when the sound of Ramsay's horn tore through the air. It was Theon, who grabbed her hand and pulled her along with him as he made her run with him to the top of the outer wall.

She closed her eyes remembering the piercing look Theon had given her as he turned and reached back for her to join him on the narrow precipice. It had been questioning and yet so intense, without him ever voicing a word. Will you follow me, Milady? Do you trust me, it said. And she would. And she did. When she was standing next to him, looking down at the snow in what seemed far too far below them, he had shifted the grip on their hands as gracefully and gently as if they were about to go out on a dance floor. She had curled her fingers around his, suddenly feeling stronger, graceful, and determined. And then they had jumped.

Knowing that no matter what, it would be better than staying in Winterfell.

Somehow they had not only survived, but landed just right. The snow had absorbed their drop and they had sunk so deep into the deep drift, that they had nearly been buried completely. For long minutes, they had just lain there, gasping for breath, trying to get their lungs back to functioning. Finally, they had been able to claw their way out of the snow.

"Are you unhurt," Theon had asked her as soon as he was able to talk and, miraculously, she was. So was he, it seemed. They were both bruised and battered but neither had broken any bones. Then, they ran.

They ran until she could go no further, but each time she thought she would faint from exertion, Theon had kept coming back to her, pulling her further along, forcing her to move. The river they had crossed would have killed her, had Theon not been there to guide her. He had to have been just as cold as her, but her skirts weighed her down considerably. Without him, she would have tripped and lost her footing and drowned in the dark, icy waters.

Afterwards, running or trying to run in a soaking wet and heavy dress had been near impossible. When Theon at long last had guided her towards a fallen tree, she had been close to collapsing and practically unable to think any coherent thoughts at all. He had said something to her, her name perhaps? She didn't know. All she knew was that he had suddenly pulled her firmly against him, his arms encircling her tightly. His hand had rubbed her back up and down, up and down and he had leaned his head against her shoulder. It had felt so good to be held like that. She had leaned back into his touch and closed her eyes, feeling comforted and cared about for the first time in years, feeling his body move as he breathed. It felt like bliss.

But all too soon Ramsay's dogs and men had found them. She would never forget how Theon had let go of her and told her to go north while he would lure the men away. He would sacrifice himself for her and he had turned away from her and left to go and do just that.

Then Brienne and her squire had arrived seemingly out of nowhere and there had been fighting and bloodshed, and she had watched as they had killed Ramsay's men and dogs one by one. She had seen Theon pick up a sword and kill the last of them, saving the squire, Podrick's life.

They had picked two of the strongest looking horses from the fallen men and had ridden as fast as the horses could stand all day. It had been snowing most of the time and their tracks had been quickly covered. When they finally made camp close to sunset, Sansa had been exhausted and sore. But she was warm and her clothes were mostly dry from sitting on a warm horse all day. Best of all; she felt safe.

The same thing clearly couldn't be said about Theon. He flinched at any sudden sounds and movements and looked thoroughly pitiful.

He wasn't though. She knew that now. Theon might forget it from time to time, but he was far stronger than he realized. If not for him, she would have been dead or worse by now. She would not forget that.

During their ride, when they had been forced to slow down in order not to hurt the horses, she had told Lady Brienne who Theon was and that no matter what Lady Brienne might or might not have heard about him, he had helped save Sansa and he was not to be hurt. To her relief, Lady Brienne calmly accepted her words without asking any further questions and for that Sansa was deeply grateful.

When they had stopped and she had been sitting down with a blanket around her shoulders, sipping from a mug of bitter, strong wine, she had looked at Theon as he gathered firewood at Podrick's request. A strange emotion ran through her as she watched him work. He had to be just as exhausted as she was, if not more. How strange to think that only a few days ago, she had all but hated him and now, now she felt as if she depended on him. Needed him. During their escape, he had helped her keep on moving, never letting her stop despite the fact that she was nearly falling apart from exhaustion and constantly wanted to simply lay down and die. He had taken her hand again and again and had constantly encouraged her to take just one more step, run just one more short distance, cross one more narrow stream and finally getting her across the icy river. She would never have made it that far without him. And strange as it may sound, she had never felt more cared for, more loved really, than when he had hugged her. The embrace and the sensation of being cared for did not last long but while it did, it had been real, and good, and kind.

Perhaps it wasn't so strange that she felt she needed Theon all of a sudden. He was the only one who truly knew who she was. The only one who cared for her because of her, and not because of her family name. He had been so far gone that there had hardly been any Theon left inside of him, but somehow, he had found himself again when it was needed. Or pieces of him.

While she and Lady Brienne talked quietly, Sansa kept her eyes on him. News of her sister gladdened her beyond words. Things had been so bleak and dark. But now? Now there was hope. For all of them.

Some birds suddenly chattered and startled the horses which in turn startled Theon who jumped up and walked around, looking this and that way, clearly afraid and unsettled. Sansa drew in a breath, stood up and walked over to him.

As she reached him, he turned towards and told her that they shouldn't be lighting a fire. He was worried that the smoke would lead Ramsay to them but Sansa felt certain that Ramsay would not be able to find them again. She suggested as much, reminding Theon that the Wall wasn't far away and that Ramsay wouldn't be able to touch them once they were there. Theon didn't seem comforted. Instead he told her how Jon would have him killed as soon as they reached Castle Black. Sansa huffed.

"I won't let him. I'll tell him the truth about Bran and Rickon," she said but Theon only bent his head.

"And the truth about the farm boys I killed in their place? And the truth about Sir Rodrik who I beheaded? And the truth about Robb, who I betrayed," he said. His voice was so full of regret and sorrow and Sansa needed him to understand that she had forgiven him. She wanted him to see a way out of his misery.

"Once you take the black all your crimes will be forgiven."

It was meant as words of comfort but she was not surprised when he told her that he didn't want to be forgiven. Yet, it frightened her to see him hate himself so much. She knew that part of the reason why he had become Reek so fully was that he truly felt he didn't deserve any better. But he did, and she needed him to understand that, but before she could say anything at all, Theon sighed and breathed,

"I can never make amends to your family for the things, I've done."

His voice sounded so broken. As if he had given up on everything. He glanced towards Lady Brienne and Podrick.

"They'll keep you safer than I ever could."

That terrified her. No, no, he couldn't leave her. Not now. Not after everything.

"You're not coming with us?" She felt on the verge of tears.

For the first time, he looked up at her. Truly looked at her and held her gaze. Earnestly he said, "I would have taken you all the way to the Wall. I would have died to get you there."

He looked so sincere. So honest and small, and so vulnerable and she flung her arms around him and hugged him tightly. He sobbed a few times in her arms and she blinked away tears of her own and briefly thought about how no one had been kind to Theon for a long, long time, either.

She let go of him when he stiffened and pulled back a bit. His face was tear stained and once again, his eyes didn't meet hers.

"May I take one of the horses," he asked.

She wanted to cry. "Where will you go?"

"Home," he replied.

She reached out her hand, wanting to touch his face or simply stroke his hair, but he turned away and so she simply placed her hand on his shoulder. Home. Theon wanted to go home. He had been taken from his family when he was just a boy. He must have been only nine or ten years old . She might have thought of him as some kind of brother same as Jon was, but Theon had never truly been her brother at all. He had been her father's hostage. Taken from his mother and father who were only rarely mentioned by her own parents, and if so, not in very praising manners. Never trust a Greyjoy. Winterfell had never been home to Theon. Not when he was living with then and certainly not these past few years. What he had endured during his years as Ramsay's prisoner, she could only imagine. If Theon felt he could find peace or a better life on Pyke, then so be it. As far as Sansa was concerned, he owed the Starks nothing. Not anymore.

They went back to Lady Brienne and Sansa told her that Theon wanted to leave and if he might take the horse he had been riding? Lady Brienne frowned.

"It's very late. The sun will be down shortly. You shouldn't ride off in the dark," she told him. "Besides, the horses need to rest for now. Stay with us for the night and then you can leave in the morning."br /

Theon didn't look at Brienne but he nodded his silent thanks.

"Podrick, do you have a spare shirt for Lord Greyjoy?"

"Please, milady," Theon said, "don't call me Lord G-greyjoy. And I don't need another shirt. This one is good enough for me."

"That may be so," Lady Brienne said dryly and her look at Theon's tattered shirt spoke volumes to the contrary.

In a kinder voice, she added,

"But it will be freezing tonight and a warm, woolen inner shirt will keep you far more warm than that rag ever will."

Theon flushed and turned, shaking his head.

Sansa reached over and grabbed his arm.

"Don't be foolish, Theon. I want you to stay with us, but if you will not, then I need you to return safely to your family. I want you to make it. To survive, do you understand?"

He glanced up at her, an unreadable look in his eyes.

"I've had enough of people I care for, suffer and die. If I have to worry about you freezing to death all alone out there, I won't get any rest or peace of mind. You will take the shirt and stay as warm as you can. Do you hear me?"

He looked down, avoiding her eyes, but he nodded. Podrick got up from the now burning campfire and the soup he was heating, and rummaged through his belongings. He came over to them, carrying a long-sleeved woolen shirt in his hands.

"It's not exactly clean," he said.

"That doesn't matter," Sansa replied. She took the proffered shirt and signaled to Podrick to leave with a small nod of her head.

"Theon, please. Take it and put it on. Now, please."

She held out the shirt for him to take. His eyebrows drew together but he reached over and took the shirt from out of her hands. He turned around and quickly pulled off his dirty rag of what was probably once a warm and thick shirt and just as quickly pulled Podrick's woolen shirt over his head and arms. Then he pulled his old tattered shirt back on as well. Sansa's and his eyes met briefly before he turned and walked away towards the campfire.

Sansa rubbed unbidden tears away from her cheeks. She had only seen Theon's back and just a glimpse really, but it had been a horrible sight. There had been scars everywhere crisscrossing his skinny back. Broad, uneven strips of mangled skin, some of them longer than a hand and wider than two fingers. Theon had been cut and flayed by Ramsay, there was no doubt about it. She knew he had been hurt, but to see it written so plainly on his body was something else. She thought she had caught sight of large X which had been branded onto one of his upper arms as well and she knew he was missing a finger. Her stomach turned. Gods, how she wanted Ramsay dead. She wanted him dead, dead, dead.

When it became time to lie down and get some rest, she asked Theon to lie beside her next to the fire. He obliged but stiffly.

She couldn't tell him how she wanted to feel safe and cared for again, so she simply told him to hold her as she was cold. He immediately reacted as she knew he would. He rolled over and pulled her gently towards him, draping the blanket he'd been given over both of them so that Sansa was now covered in two blankets. He pressed her body against his and kept her close to him. She lay there listening to his hushed breaths. After a few minutes, she reached out and put an arm tentatively around him and snuggled closer. She knew he was crying by now but she didn't say anything.

Eventually, the shared body heat and the long day got the better of them and they both fell into a much needed sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

"What were you thinking? You can't bring a woman with you onboard! And she's got a child even. Theon, you have to send her away."

"I can't," he replied.

"Maybe you can't but I can," Yara retorted and tried to move past him, but she stopped when he reached out and took hold of her arm.

"Yara, please!" He was desperate, but it could not be helped. He needed her to understand. She had to understand.

"I won't recognize him publicly, I promise. At least not here. But the boy is mine. And I'm not sending him or the mother away."

He saw a shadow of incredulous anger, and disbelief pass over his sister's features and he swallowed in a vain attempt to moisten his parched throat before he managed to continue, "If they leave, I leave."

His heart was hammering away, and he thought he might faint, but he carried on in a voice, that sounded foreign to his own ears, "And if you cause them any harm, then I will make you regret it. This, I swear."

His entire body twitched involuntarily from the exertion and from voicing the threat. Yara stared at him. Blood had run to her face, hot and fast and turning her gaze dark, while Theon felt his own drain away all together. He couldn't prevent the tremors wrecking his body. They were residues from his years as Ramsay's prisoner, but he managed to maintain eye contact even though he felt traitorous tears sting his eyes. In the end, thankfully, it was Yara who looked away. Inwardly, Theon sagged. Sadly, he couldn't hide the twitches, nor the stray tears that trickled down his cheeks.

He had meant what he had said, though. If all there was left of his life was to do right, then he would have to do all in his power to keep this boy and the mother safe. And if his sister harmed the boy, then he would retaliate.

Yara looked down on his hand, which was still holding on to her arm. Slowly, he let go and let it fall limply to his side. He twitched slightly once more as a tremor ran through him.

Yara sighed.

"You never cease to surprise me, little brother." Her voice was unusually soft where he had expected it to be cutting.

"I understand how it must pain you not to be able to father any legitimate children. The Drowned God knows I would have wished for you a much kinder faith. I would have welcomed any trueborn children with your blood running through their veins. I still would, if it were possible. Theon, believe me when I tell you that there is nothing I want more than to see you happy with a family of your own. I know that's what you long for."

Theon's eyes momentarily flickered away but reverted to Yara's, as she continued, "I'm sorry, Theon. I understand that a bastard would be the next best thing, and if I am not mistaken there must be quite a few out there with a father by the name of Theon Greyjoy." She smiled wryly. "But finding one of them? And here? That's hoping for too much and seeing things that aren't there."

He didn't reply immediately but pondered her words. It was true; he could be the father of more children than this boy, but for a man who used to love sex, he hadn't slept with nearly as many women as he would have liked to. Before all went wrong, he had usually preferred sleeping with Ross. She was a whore, but she was clever, and beautiful, and smart. And she seemed to enjoy their times together. He briefly wondered where she was now? He hoped she was well. But he was certain that he hadn't fathered any bastard on Ross. She was too savvy for that and definitely took her moon tea.

During the war with Robb, he hadn't slept with anyone at all. Being Robb's friend and the Starks' ward, meant no raping or reaving. It wasn't the Starks' way. It wasn't his way either truth be told although he would have scoffed at the notion back then as a Greyjoy. But he had complied and felt honorable while doing so, which was a farce, of course. Because as soon as he was finally free to do as he pleased he had slept with Ea. Each day, and several times a day all the way on his journey back to Pyke. The sex had been clumsy, and he had only done it for his own pleasure, stupidly believing it was his right as a Greyjoy. She hadn't been protesting. There had been no tears, but then again, he had been spoon-feeding her stories of salt wives and old days, and how important a person he was, how lucky she was to get to bed him.

Then there had been that wildling woman, Osha. One more foolish move on a downward spiral. After that, nothing but horror.

No, he hadn't slept around with that many women and not nearly as wisely nor as kindly as he would have liked to, before sex turned into nothing but pain and humiliation. Before it became about taking and witnessing. About tears, and suffocation, and surrender,

Yara interrupted his bleak thoughts. "How can you be certain he is yours? How would you know? How could you _really_ know?" There was no anger in her voice, only honest curiosity.

He hesitated and cleared his throat. "The time adds up. She… she hadn't been with anyone but me when I was with her. It was on my way to Pyke…"

He didn't end his sentence. Any ironborn man true to his name had bastards. But Theon had been such a pretender and so full of himself, as he had fucked her without giving her, or the consequences any second thoughts. He wanted to throw up.

For long moments, Yara looked at him, an unreadable expression on her face. Then the corner of her mouth twitched. Was she laughing at him? This time, he was the one to look away. If she did laugh at him, she was right to do so, after all.

Still, the boy was his. There was no doubt about it and Yara would realize the truth of it, once she laid eyes on him. He looked back at her. She was smiling crookedly.

"A little Theon," she mused. "If you say so, then I do believe you, little brother. And you have nothing to fear from me. I told you I would never hurt you and I meant it. For what it's worth, I'm happy for you but the boy can't come back with us to the Iron Islands, do you understand?"

"I do," he replied. He had known full well that it was one thing that he had resigned his right to the throne. It was quite another matter if he'd sired a son. Bastard or no, a grandson of Balon Greyjoy had first rights in the eyes of many an ironborn. And would pose a risk to many another. "Thank you."

"He can't come up on deck, either. And we will have to leave both boy and mother in Meereen. Do not worry. We will find a safe place for them, I promise. But I don't want anyone to know about who his father is. Is that understood?"

Theon nodded. Somehow once the war was over, he would find a place far away from the Iron Islands and call it home. He would make sure the boy grew up feeling loved and safe. And knowing his real father, if not his real name. The mother, Ea, might not have been Theon's choice back when he was free of all of his wrong deeds. He had been an ambitious fool, but he had longed for Ned Stark's approval, and Catelyn's maternal love. He vaguely remembered how he had dreamed of marrying Sansa for that reason alone.

Now of course, the thought of using Sansa as a means to an end repulsed him. Sansa, whom he had failed miserably until it was almost too late. Sansa, who had somehow found a way to forgive him even if she knew all that he had done. All the wrong choices. The murders. He shook the memories away. There weren't room or time for them now. He would have to talk to Ea and make sure she wouldn't tell anyone how she was Lord Greyjoy's salt wife. Then again, life had taught Ea a thing or two as well, and he suspected it wouldn't be difficult to make her understand the necessity of keeping quiet. Perhaps, when they reached Meereen, he could ask the Targaryen queen if she would help shelter both boy and mother while they were away doing battle?

 _Maybe the Targaryen queen will feed us all to her dragons and that will be the end of that_ , he thought wryly. Who knew if they were not on a doomed mission already? With Theon's luck, it seemed more than likely.

He had told Ea to sleep in his bed along with the boy and to not leave the cabin while he would go and have a word with his sister. The boy had fallen asleep in his arms and Theon had gently put him down on the mattress, marveling, but also slightly reeling over how events had taken yet an unforeseen turn in his life. As he stared at the little nose, and the long lashes, he decided this unexpected turn was one he rather liked. The boy looked, for lack of a better word, sweet.

"What's his name," he had asked, surprised at how such an important question came to him this late.

"Seek, m'lord. His name is Seek."

 _Seek. Seek. It rhymes with…_

"Why," he asked brokenly.

"Don't you like it, m'lord? Does it offend you? Ea sounded startled and afraid. He couldn't answer. Couldn't find a way to push out words through his mouth. How cruel could the world be? _Always worse. It could always be worse_. Well did he know that.

"It's only - I wanted to give him a name that reminded him that there's always something good to find, if-if you look for it, m'lord. I wanted him to always keep his eyes open, to have hope even if his mum's not given him the best of starts. And it sounds like the sea, too, I thought," she said barely audible, and clearly embarrassed.

Theon blinked.

"But I'm sorry if it's a wrong name, m'lord. Or if it's a silly name. It is, I know it is. I'm not a learned lady, m'lord. I can understand if Seek is not a name fit for the son of a prince. He is very young, my lord. Not even two years of age. If you want him to go by any other name, then so be it."

She looked at the boy and smiled. "I reckon he's found his good fortune already without even seeking for it."

And she grinned in that slightly naïve way of hers, that he remembered. Back then, he'd thought her smile silly. But now he knew that she was just kind by nature and that her toothy smile was genuine. Who cared if it made her look a bit gullible, or even simple? She wasn't meant to be a street savvy whore. _He_ had made her one.

He studied the boy's face. His lips were shaped like Theon's own. There were no scars on them or on his skin which looked soft as a peach. His cheeks were too hollow but a bit more food would take care of that.

He took a deep breath. "Seek," he said. Then he almost smiled.

"It's a fine name. Seek, it is."

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AN UNMARKED, SEALED LETTER FOR LADY SANSA STARK, THE WALL

 _Sansa,_

 _I hope this letter reaches you in time, and that you are safe and well._

 _I returned to Pyke unharmed. Upon arrival, I learned that my lord father had died. By his own admission, my uncle Euron was responsible for his death. Euron has claimed the Seastone Chair for himself, forcing my sister Yara and me to flee the islands._

 _My sister commands a fleet of nearly a hundred ships. Together, we have sailed them to Meereen, where we have made a pact with Daenerys Targaryen. Like you, Daenerys is a strong woman with a vigorous sense of righteousness. She commands a great army and she needed ships to bring her army to Westeros. Yara has pledged to aid Daenerys in restoring her as the rightful ruler of the seven kingdoms. In return, Daenerys will help my sister reclaim the Iron Islands. I am no longer fit to rule._

 _For my part, I will do what I can to help you reclaim Winterfell. I believe the queen, and my sister will agree with me that the Warden in the North must always be a Stark. My sister never wanted me to take Winterfell. I urge you to not hold my past actions against her._

 _You should also know that Tyrion Lannister is Hand of the queen. I remember you spoke fondly of him. He does not think highly of me, but I trust him, because he was kind to you._

 _There are many things I should like to say to you. If the gods will let me, I hope I will get the chance to speak to you again, and soon._

 _Theon_

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IN MEEREEN

Daenerys had agreed to keep Seek and Ea safe in Meereen. She had given the three of them a spacious room of their own during their short stay in the city, and told them they were Ea's for her using until she was sent for. She had refused Ea's offerings to work for her stay and Theon's to pay for it.

Naturally, Daenerys had assumed they were a couple. Theon was quite certain her sharp gaze had seen more to their story, as she had laid eyes on Seek. Her eyes had sparkled, but thankfully, she had not voiced her thoughts or asked further questions.

Apart from Yara and Theon, the ironborn had stayed on the ships on Yara's orders during the first couple of days outside the harbor of Meereen. They had noticed that apparently their cock-less prince was able to entertain himself with a woman which had given Theon somewhat approving looks on their way to Meereen. On the morning of the first day in Meereen, they had seen Theon lead his whore off board and had simply assumed he was done using her. There was nothing unusual about that, although questions as to how exactly he did the entertaining did surface. Some also found it strange that he would choose a whore with a kid, but to each his own. They let them be, and that was all that mattered.

Ea and Theon had long passed the awkward stage of getting undressed while in the same room. While sharing Theon's cabin on their way to Meereen, Ea had agreed to look away whenever Theon were to undress or dress, and he of course treated her likewise. If she had cheated and taken a peek at his ruined body, she had showed him the courtesy of not letting him know about it, and for that, he was grateful.

The first couple of nights, she had assumed she was back to being his bed warmer but he had firmly told her that he wished to bed no one.

It was while in their room in Meereen, that Ea had asked him if he had been hurt? He had gone to sleep on the floor as he was wont. He wore his small clothes and a thin linen shirt to cover his torso and arms from her sight like he always did, as he slid under his covers. But the air was warm in Meereen and sometime during the night he'd removed his shirt. He awoke with a tiny hand on his face, and puffs of air from a tiny mouth on his shoulder. Seek had managed to sneak out of bed and clamper down to where Theon slept on the floor.

He had not spoken much to the child during their days together. It had been years since he'd last known how to smile and he feared his attempts at doing so mostly looked like grimaces. Whether that was true or not, Seek seemed unperturbed. Sometimes when Theon was inside their room, Seek would totter over to him and just raise his arms, and Theon would reach down and pick him up and simply sit with him on his lap. Seek would then amuse himself by pulling Theon's ears, or touch his scratchy short beard or play with the strings on his armor's shoulder straps, or the collar of his shirt. He was a quiet child but mostly content, it seemed. He was looking healthier already. He would eat anything. Fish, meats, shellfish, octopus, onions, fruits, porridge. It didn't matter. The boy had known hunger, and he wouldn't refuse any kind of food, like the small, true survivor he was.

But that night, Theon awoke with Seek lying next to him and an alarmed looking Ea standing over them.

"M'lord," she said. "what has happened to you? Are you hurt?"

He immediately rolled away from Seek and pulled up the covers. Then he realized how foolish it was. She had seen too much of him already, and he lowered the blanket slightly and sat up straight.

"I was," he replied. "I was taken captive a few months after your father's ship docked at Pyke.

"I escaped, not long ago. I don't wish to speak more of it. What's done is done. And I deserved everything that's happened to me, so don't show me any pity."

"How," she asked earnestly. "What could you have done, m'lord to deserve that?" And she gestured at his arms, his hands, his torso.

"I did a lot of things. Bad things. Surely you must have heard of the Turncloak?"

"I haven't." Something flickered in her eyes. So she had. She looked away.

He didn't want to tell her, but he seemed incapable of stopping.

"I betrayed my best friend's trust. I chose my real family over his. He… Robb Stark had been like a brother to me and he died hating me.

"I captured Winterfell. It belonged to the Starks, but I took it anyway.

"I beheaded a man I had known most of my life for being loyal to the Starks instead of me.

"And I had two boys murdered." The last words, he barely whispered.

Ea's eyes were round and big like saucers. "Why," she gasped.

"So I wouldn't be laughed at. So that my men would respect me. So I could keep Winterfell. I wish there were better reasons, but there aren't. And in the end, my men turned on me. Of course they did. Maester Luwin told me to run. He saw right through me. Saw how out of my depths, I was. But I knew there was no easy way out anymore. I had gone too far. I had to bear the consequences. I thought that meant a brave death on the battlefield. Little did I know."

"Did they do that to you?"

"Who?"

"Your men."

"No. No, they didn't. I don't know what happened to them afterwards, but they must have handed me over to… to the man who did this to me. Now, he resides at Winterfell, and I will see him dead. Not for what he did to me, but for what he did to Sansa, Robb's sister.

"She… was there as well. And I waited far too long before I helped her. I… the things he did to her, I… I thought he could guess each step I took, know each thought I thought. He reduced me to nothing. He… I lost myself. Lost my name. And so I watched as Sansa was…"

No, it didn't bear thinking about. His head was throbbing and he felt as if he were going to be sick.

"Take Seek, please. Don't ask me about any of this again." He stood up and quickly pulled on his clothes as she gathered up the sleeping child.

"Where are you going, m'lord?"

Her anxious voice made him turn and look at her.

"Outside. I need some air."

He was shaking but so was she, he realized. It took reserves he really didn't have to calm himself down enough to be able to reassure her before he left her.

"I'm not going to abandon you. I just need to be alone for a while."

"Yes, m'lord."

He stopped at the door. "Ea?"

"Yes, m'lord?"

"Call me Theon. Please."

to be continued


	5. Chapter 5

They had left Meereen a little over a month ago.

The voyage back went considerably slower than heading towards Essos had. When they had been heading eastwards, their fleet had been manned with just enough ironborn to manoeuver the ships. All of whom were able-bodied sailors. Heading westbound, the currents worked against them, and the hundreds of ships, now carrying thousands of people not used to sailing slowed them down. Incidents happened all the time: A sail was torn, a rope broke, a horse panicked and got hurt. Men and women who had never been on a ship before got seasick and language barriers among the crews caused continuous misunderstandings. It was mad luck, really that none of the quarrels escalated and ended up in bloody fights.

But it was mostly due to the fact that despite the differences, there was a strong sense of a common goal. A common enemy. Some people were able to lead thousands. Others were unable to make thirty men do as they said.

Considering the size of the fleet and how many different people it carried, all incidents were nothing more than could be expected. Still, the slower pace made Theon feel nervous and restless. He hid those feelings as well as he could, and watched quietly as necessary repairs were made and matters were handled as swiftly as were possible. He saw and felt how the large armada continued to move steadily towards Westeros and yet, he still wished they would sail faster. His anxious impatience was foolish he knew: staying out here onboard these ships far away in the middle of the ocean was safer than he had been in years. Safer than he had been during his entire life. But he needed things to be over. He needed it all to come to an end however said end might happen to turn out.

So far there had been no serious human casualties, but that would soon change. Dragons or not, once they reached King's Landing, the mad queen would not let her city yield easily. All men and women aboard the ships were aware of the wildfire that had defeated Stannis Baratheon's grand fleet. While the dragons could easily torch ships and buildings, they couldn't risk using the beasts during the upcoming battle. No one knew if the queen had any more wildfire at hand, but it stood to reason that she probably did. It was impossible to tell where the remaining reservoirs of wildfire were stored or how she would use it. It could be placed inside buildings, onboard tall ships or small fishing boats, or even in perfectly innocent looking barrels placed directly on the quay. Setting wildfire loose would be the bane of all of them, and worse, of thousands of innocents within King's Landing. Queen Cersei might not care, but queen Daenerys and her allies did. The decision to use the dragons as an intimidating factor only didn't sit well with the future ruler of Westeros, but Daenerys had accepted that, for once, fire was not the solution to her problems.

The stop in Volantis had been as brief as possible. A small host of ships with only as many men as were necessary to bring them to port had entered the actual harbor. Though the Volantene port was one of the largest in the known world there wasn't room for the entire fleet. They counted over five hundred ships and would grow even larger once they reached Dorne.

Yara was the only one of the royal leaders who had firsthand experience in commanding a fleet, and it had been a unanimous decision to let her lead them safely to King's Landing. Lord Tyrion had suggested the idea, and Daenerys has asked if all agreed and as always Theon had not said a word and kept his eyes downcast. It was only when he realized how silent the room had become, that he had raised his head. When his eyes met Daenerys' he realized that she was staring somewhat bemused at him. In fact, everybody inside the cabin were staring at him, and they all had their hands raised in support of his sister Yara. Flustered, he raised his arm as well and nodded his consent. Daynerys had smiled that smile of hers. The one where you couldn't quite tell if she was smiling at you or over you. Yara had only looked sad. It was hard for him to remember that his opinion seemed to matter to these people, even if it was always bound to be an echo of his sister's. He wasn't sure how to handle the attention, let alone the responsibility even if it were only a token one. It shamed him.

It seemed to him that he had lost all rights to making decisions a long time ago. All of his decisions had been wrong so far. No, that was not entirely true. He would never regret escaping Winterfell with Sansa. He only wished he had found it within himself to do it sooner.

Yara had ordered the rest of the fleet to dock well away and out of sight from Volantis. Partly in order to conceal the vast flotilla but also to ensure that the various crew members remained safely onboard. There were too many temptations in Volantis and no time for rounding up drunk or passed out sailors or warriors. The ships returned with fresh supplies of hay and barley for the horses, and fruits, vegetables, and meats for the crews. Yara made sure that all wares were distributed fairly among the ships. There was no actual fear of starvation as there seemed to be an abundance of ale, dried and salted meats aboard all of the ships, but fresh, juicy fruit and blood-dripping meats were always welcome. The Dothraki horses were onboard what was once Slavers' ships, and none of the ships had room for the usual livestock carried by normal trader ships.

The smell of roasted meat and heady stews filled the waters the night of departure and the feasts ensured happy crews. And happy crews were loyal crews.

Theon watched, and listened, and learned. He admired his sister before they fled the iron islands, but his admiration only grew as he saw what a competent leader, she was.

Tonight, yet a small council was assembled onboard Black Wind at Queen Daenerys' request. Around a huge table in the great cabin resided Lord Varys, Tyrion Lannister, Daenerys, her commander Grey Worm, and the interpreter Missandei as well as two representatives of the houses Tyrell and Martell and a couple of fierce looking Dothraki warriors. Theon sat next to his sister, as he always did.

Lord Varys had been among those who left the ships while docking at Volantis. Yara had went ashore as well, leaving Theon in command of the Black Wind while she was gone. He understood the need for appointing a leader, even if they were all to stay put until she returned, but he had said that he wasn't fit to rule. That applied to her ship as well as the iron islands. He had not issued any commands, nor toured the deck looking full of himself the way he'd done when he was last in command. He knew all too well what a fool he'd been. Besides he quietly noticed that the crew knew exactly what to do. They were not going to cause him or rather Yara any trouble.

He was however relieved that he didn't have to leave the ship and go ashore with Yara. For better or for worse, he felt more at ease out here, far away from the hustle that was Volantis.

Lord Varys carried back letters and news. And it was for that reason, Daenerys had called this assembly.

"My Lords, my Ladies," Lord Varys said.

"We've had fresh tidings from the north. It would seem that Cersei Lannister's northern ally, Lord Roose Bolton has had a fatal case of poisoning. Sadly, his wife and infant son perished on that very same day. Whether from the same ailment as the deceased lordship, I do not know, but one does wonder.

"Be that as it may, the new Warden of the North is the lord's recently legitimized son, Lord Ramsay Bolton."

At the mention of the name, Theon shot up from his chair so abruptly it nearly fell back over. Lord Varys lifted his eyebrows only a fraction, but the queen looked at him with a mildly displeased expression. Out of the corners of his eyes he noticed his sister reaching out for him. He lifted his hand just slightly motioning for her to stay away from him. He tried to get his heart and breathing under control but it was impossible. He managed to utter some sort of an apology before he turned around and left the cabin. Up, he had to get upstairs and outside. He had to get away from all of these faces to whom Winterfell was nothing but a name, and Ramsay Bolton just a man like any other.

 _Ramsay_. Warden of the North and it was all his fault. Roose Bolton, Lady Walda, the infant, no doubt murdered by Mas… no, not Master, never Master again. Ramsay. Ramsay had murdered them, just as Theon had always known he would. A little baby... Theon ran to the railing and threw up whatever contents he had in his stomach.

Roose Bolton had murdered Robb. Roose Bolton was responsible for Lady Catelyn's death. Theon was nothing but glad to hear of that man's death.

But Lady Walda? She had never harmed anyone. She had no doubt been just as afraid as the rest of them. He suddenly remembered how she would sometimes glance in his direction, but he always made sure never to meet her eyes. He always made sure not to meet anyone's eyes. It would anger M… Ramsay, and besides, deep down, he didn't feel that he was worthy of looking anyone in the eye. But he felt certain that Walda didn't condone what had been happening at Winterfell. All Roose's wife could do was to do her best at keeping her husband happy. And she had succeeded in as much. Theon had often overheard Roose Bolton speaking of his wife rather fondly much to Ramsay's irritation. Such conversations always resulted in kicks or cuffs or worse once Theon was back in Ramsay's chamber, helping Ramsay prepare for the night. Bathing him. Serving him in any way Ramsay wanted him to.

He shuddered and threw up again. Just spittle this time. He had hardly eaten anything. He rarely had any appetite and forgot to eat unless Yara told him to.

No, Walda didn't deserve to die and neither did her newborn child. Knowing what Ramsay was, he pitied their last living moments. He leaned out over the railing once more, trying to get rid of the last of the foul taste.

A breeze ruffled his hair and cooled his face and he rubbed his tired eyes and took a deep breath. All around him, the large ships glided steadily through the waters. He did his best to concentrate on the present world. The sound of the sails high above him flapping, the waves hitting the prow, the gentle rocking of the ship as she moved. The occasional distant shout of a sailor on one of the nearest ships, calling out an order or an affirmation. The bright stars. Slowly, he began to feel more calm. A white half-moon shone over the vast ocean, making each wave glitter and each ship shine a silvery bright. He gazed to his left. On Daenerys' own ship rested one of her dragons while the other two flew high above them, up in the dark skies. The dragons were amazing creatures to behold, and only a fool wouldn't fear them. Only a fool would trust them, too, he thought. They reminded Theon of giant cats. True predators.

Looking down again, he felt the tempting pull from the ocean below him. He did not doubt that it would be easier for him to simply disappear in the black depths but then a little boy would grow up without a father. And he would never be able to serve Sansa the way he wanted to serve her. If she would ever let him, that was.

"A word, Greyjoy?"

He flinched and turned around.

"Calm down, man. I'm hardly a threat to you."

Lord Tyrion stood watching him. If anyone onboard this ship was a threat to him, Tyrion with his sharp tongue and clear disdain was the biggest of them all. Theon closed his eyes and shook his head before turning halfway away from the man. He didn't dare turn his back on him entirely, but he did not want to face him.

Tyrion cleared his throat and approached.

"Here, have a glass of wine," he said and pushed a glass into Theon's hand. Theon had stopped wearing gloves since they arrived in Meereen. Feeling uncomfortable, he shifted the glass into his left hand.

"I saw you got sick. I suppose you don't necessarily have to have sea legs, just because you're born a Greyjoy."

"I wasn't seasick," Theon replied.

"At least use the wine to rinse your mouth if you're not up to actually drinking it. That way it'll be useful for something, at least. I hate to see good wine go to waste."

Theon did as he was told and spat out the wine into the sea.

"What happened when you were at the hands of the Boltons?" Tyrion's voice, for once, wasn't sarcastic or mocking, mainly curious.

"I got what I deserved," he replied simply. "You do well to remember that Ramsay Bolton is a dangerous man. Even more so than his father. Ramsay is cruel and unpredictable. And very ambitious."

Tyrion frowned. "Hmm," he said and took a sip of his glass.

"He married Lady Sansa. And he hurt her. Badly. And I could do nothing."

He looked Lord Tyrion directly in his eyes. The man looked troubled.

"The marriage was a way to get a stronger claim on Winterfell, even though they'd already taken it. They wanted to show the Northerners that Winterfell was theirs by right, and not by force alone."

"Yes, that didn't work out so well for you, did it?"

At that Theon bent his head. The sorrow and shame he felt was overwhelming.

"No," he agreed.

"It was the biggest mistake I've ever made. Not a day goes by where I don't regret it. I would give anything if I could go back and change it all. My life, what little it's worth.

"I was a fool for thinking that I could impress my father. He thought I was a Stark. But you know better than anyone that I was never a Stark. You were kind enough to remind me of the fact when we first met."

Now Tyrion was the one to look away but it brought no joy to Theon. After all it was nothing but the truth.

"I wanted to have what the Starks had. A family. A mother who was close. Who loved me. A father who cared for me. Brothers. Sisters. I loved the Starks. I envied them. I'm not ashamed to admit it. I wanted what they had. You may laugh, but I honestly thought my father would welcome me back with open arms when I returned to Pyke. I was sure he would be pleased to see me, that he would agree to bring his ships to Robb's aid immediately. But instead he looked at me as if I was a traitor. Told me that he would take back what was his. I had to choose between him and the Starks.

"I was no one to him. I don't think I ever was. Why I still wanted to impress him is beyond me."

Tyrion bit his lip. "So you decided to take Winterfell to prove your loyalty and win back dad's heart?"

"Mock me all you want. I deserve it. I can never undo what I did. Such horrible things. And because of me, Sansa was raped, and Robb is dead." Theon's voice broke.

"Seven hells," he hissed in angry defeat and rubbed his tears away. Would he never be able to stop crying?

"It was Robb Stark, who sent the Boltons to Winterfell," Lord Tyrion said. Theon's heart dropped. Then he slowly nodded. Of course it was.

"No, no. There were no orders from the young wolf to treat you the way I think you have been treated. Roose Bolton was to capture you, yes. But you were to be returned to Robb Stark, unharmed. I won't lie; I'm quite confident he meant to take your head, but knowing what kind of person Robb Stark was, he might not have, had you been given the chance to explain yourself to him."

Theon frowned, but Tyrion only gave him a wry smile.

"Family. It's a big thing with the Starks, as you well know. He would have had to punish you, of course. But I could see him understanding that you had had to choose between your friend or your family. And that you had to choose your family. We all know that's what he would have done."

Theon pondered the words.

"Of course, what Robb Stark didn't know was that all of his orders were conveyed directly to my father by the second, and more successful turncloak in his entourage; Roose Bolton. And it was my father who told the Boltons to do exactly as they wished with you. The Boltons were never known for their kindness, I'm afraid. Neither was my father."

"No matter what, Robb would have had to kill me. I wish he had."

"True, he might have ended up having to do so. But as I said, he would have understood why you did what you did. Why you felt obliged to obey your father's orders and turn against your friend. And he would have learned that you had not murdered his brothers."

"I was responsible for two boys' deaths. It matters little to me that they weren't Bran and Rickon."

He sighed. "It's all too late now anyway.

"Robb died as Roose Bolton took a knife to his heart."

The last words came out as a whisper as if speaking them out loud would make them hurt any less. He looked at Tyrion knowing that once again he was crying but it couldn't be helped.

"Ramsay Bolton told me so. By then, I was…ruined. So many months of nothing but… pain. I believed I was already dead. But I was wrong. It's possible to die even after you're no longer truly alive," he said in earnest.

Tyrion drained his cup and stood for a while looking out over the ocean. Theon stood staring at the deck, once again lost in bleak thoughts. He heard Lord Tyrion approach him and shuddered slightly when the man stood right in front of him.

"Listen, man. By all rights, I'm a traitor. And a kinslayer. And a twice over murderer. And even the precious Starks are traitors. Their treason is part of the reason why we are here in the first place.

"Sometimes, we do what we would never think we would do because life isn't always giving us easy choices. The decisions we make or that we have to make are not always obvious. And sometimes we are placed in situations where there is no ideal way out. That happens more often than not in my experience."

He sighed. "What I'm trying to say is don't be so hard on yourself, Greyjoy. I don't like to admit it but even I can be wrong from time to time. For what it's worth, I think I might have been wrong about you. I will change that immediately."

He reached out his hand. "Friends?"

Hesitantly Theon extended his hand. The clasp was surprisingly firm.


	6. Chapter 6

Ramsay's letter frightened her and while she knew better than to show any outward emotions, it had been impossible to remain entirely calm.

Ramsay had taken Rickon. They had to march on Winterfell now if her little brother were to have any chances of survival. And yet, no matter how fast they got there, no matter how many men they managed to assemble, it felt like a hopeless task. A person could be alive and breathing one second and dead and still the very next. Ramsay would love to play such a game. She glanced at Jon. He looked as troubled and withdrawn as ever. She knew it wasn't fair to expect that he knew exactly what to do in order to save Rickon. Jon had seen battles and horrors and deaths in the years they had been apart, but she wondered if he truly understood the mad, unpredictable danger that was Ramsay Bolton. But how could he? She hadn't told him. Couldn't tell him how it had really been at Winterfell. Couldn't tell anyone, at all.

Jon felt sorry for her, of course, but he didn't have an inkling of what it meant to be Ramsay Bolton's captive.

They rose and left the long table. The letter had brought back too many memories about unwanted touches, and she found herself once again wishing that Theon hadn't left. After all, he _knew_. He _understood_.

She went back to her room alone and found it as dark and uninviting as ever. She had been at the stronghold for some time by now, but there were nearly no signs of her living here except for her embroidery placed in a basket by the window. Jon had remembered that she liked needlework and had brought supplies with him from Mole's Town.

She knelt in front of her small fireplace. The fire had mostly died out with only glowing, orange embers remaining. There were no handmaids at Castle Black and though the watchers served her as best they could, they didn't think of helping her with such ordinary tasks as keeping a fire burning inside her room. They did, however, bring her the necessary firewood and for that she was grateful. Besides, complaining or acting helpless was out of the question and so she had to get the fire going on her own. She was getting very good at it, too. There was something very satisfactory in watching a flame suddenly jump from a piece of wood that had until then been a cold and dead thing. The fire would spread and grow stronger and take on a brilliant life of its own and it felt reassuring.

She sat down on her cot and continued watching the flames dance. They contrasted starkly to all the black and grey in the room, casting golden shapes over straight, functional lines on the few pieces of furniture, making them appear curvy and cosy. She gathered her shawl a bit closer around her shoulders and basked in the heat against her face. As dire a place as it was, Castle Black was infinitely better than what Winterfell had become in the clutches of Ramsay and Roose.

She thought of Lady Walda. She had never presumed to like the woman nor had she ever welcomed Walda's awkward attempts at making conversation. After the wedding, all contact with Roose's wife had ceased and Sansa's entire world had consisted of only Ramsay, and Theon. A heavy pang ran through her. Roose Bolton had been a horrible, murderous traitor, but he was intelligent and calculating instead of cruel and insane. Ramsay longed to be like his father but he lacked the brains. That meant that Ramsay wouldn't think twice about murdering Rickon. Poor Rickon, trapped with this monster with no one to help him, and no one to care for him. Not even the ruined wreck that had been Theon. Even though she had hated Theon to begin with, and even though he had been nearly out of his mind at the time, she had still taken comfort in his presence. In his own backward way, Theon had cared about her, although he had been much too cowed to help her. Until the moment, when he did, of course. But there would be no such person around for Rickon, and it saddened her.

How long had Ramsay held her brother captive? How much damage had he already inflicted on her little brother? She felt her throat constrict. Rickon had been such a tiny boy when she had left Winterfell along with Arya and Father and she kept seeing unwanted images of Ramsay hurting that little boy inside her mind, but she knew that her memory of Rickon was only an illusion. He was probably as tall as Bran now, perhaps taller. Her mother always used to say that Rickon was the spitting image of Sansa when she was his age. For all she knew, he might be a tall, and gangly teen by now. It made her want to cry that she simply didn't know. Those past years had ruined her family; there were so many gone: executed, butchered, or lost. But crying never did anything good. She had to focus and concentrate on those who remained alive.

If Rickon lived, then perhaps Bran did as well. She felt certain Ramsay would have mentioned Bran in his letter, if he had seen her other brother, not to mention if he had caught and killed him. Ever since Theon had confessed to her that he hadn't killed Bran and Rickon, she had dreamed of seeing her brothers again. She knew Theon would want that, too. He seemed to be full of nothing but regrets for what he had inadvertedly, or directly caused. Telling Theon that Rickon lived would have to wait of course. Besides all she could tell him was that Rickon lived _for now_. The knowledge of Rickon being in the clutches of Ramsay would hurt Theon just as much as it did Sansa because he knew exactly what could happen to Rickon. Besides, Theon was in Essos now as per his letter from months ago. Sansa did not know much about this Daenerys Targaryen whom he had allied himself and his sister with. She knew that Daenerys was the daughter of the mad King Aegon and his wife Rhaella, who had also been Aegon's blood sister. But like most of Westeros' population Sansa had been unaware of the fact that the princess had survived after Robert's Rebellion. There were stories, of course. Of how Daenerys had been born at Dragonstone and how her mother had died shortly after giving birth to Daenerys. Daenerys would be only a bit older than Sansa, yet somehow she had managed to make herself queen and gather an army and a fleet far away from her homeland, preparing to return to Westeros and take back the seven kingdoms. In other words, she would have to be a truly formidable woman. And Lord Tyrion was with her. He was a kind man despite his family tree. He would be a wise Hand for any ruler.

Some said Daenerys had dragons, but Theon's letter hadn't mentioned anything about such creatures. If Daenerys did have dragons though, no one stood a chance against her. Whether she would be a good ruler or not was impossible to say. Theon's letter had said that she was a righteous woman, but many people believed themselves "righteous" as they killed and maimed and and all who disagreed with them. Still, she would trust Theon's judgement. To be sure, Daenerys would have to be if not a good ruler, then a better ruler than Joffrey had been.

Joffrey and his nightmare of a mother, and his coldhearted grandfather didn't care about anything but their own power. That family had caused her father's death and they were behind the assassinations of Robb and Mother. The Boltons might have swung their swords and wielded their knives and Walder Frey broken all guest rights as he let his men join in on the slaughter, but none of these men would have dared lifting so much as a finger against her family, had they not been backed by the Lannisters. She would see Ramsay dead and Walder Frey as well, but she would rejoice just as greatly once the Lannisters had been removed from their positions of power in Westeros.

Tommen Lannister was king now. She bore the boy no ill will, but in truth, she didn't know him very well. As a boy king, it was likely that his life would be spared. Margaery's too, she hoped. Cersei though, Cercei's head would roll just as Father's had.

She wished that she could write Theon a letter just to let him know that she too was still alive. She knew he would want to hear it. But there was no sure way of knowing where he was now or how to reach him. She would welcome any help they could get, and Theon had been willing to sacrifice himself for her. At the time, she had been too afraid and too tired to think much about it, but afterwards, she had understood what he had been willing to do for her. He was just a husk of man, really, but he was one of the bravest men she knew. And his loyalty was hers until his dying breath, she didn't doubt it. She had no room for hatred or animosity as far as Theon was concerned anymore. Her father would have been beheaded no matter what Theon had done. Robb and Mother would have been killed. She knew that Theon would feel responsible if Rickon died in the hands of Ramsay. But had Theon not taken Winterfell and caused her brothers to flee, then both of them would have been murdered or tortured by Ramsay a long time ago.

No, Sansa couldn't blame Theon for what had happened to her family, nor for what Ramsay would or wouldn't do to Rickon.

Weeks passed with too little progress. Rallying forces to win back Winterfell turned out to be a slow, and difficult affair.

Not many Northerners believed that her family was a force to be reckoned with anymore. Not many felt they owed the Starks any support or loyalty at all. Jon and Sansa had often been met with disdain and even hatred. People felt that the Starks had let the North down and it angered and frustrated her. After all, her father had had no choice but to go with the king. What happened afterwards had been unpredictable and unthinkable. How could Robb not go south to seek revenge for their family?

And as precious time went by, it seemed less and less likely, that Rickon was still alive.

"Oh, the Seven and the Drowned god himself," Theon groaned as he felt his sister ease up. "please, don't stop!"

Yara's laugh was loud and delighted.

"Issuing commands, are we? Well, this is the first self-indulgent order I've ever heard that I'm more than happy to oblige!"

Theon sighed into the pillow, and felt a small smile tug at his lips. He turned his head away from Yara before she could see it, and sobered up.

He couldn't fool Yara, of course. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," Yara's voice continued warmly close to his ear, "but I've been rubbing your back for nearly half an hour. My hands are sore, my shoulders ache and despite my pains, I find myself unable to deny you. That's not very fair, you know."

Before he could turn around and apologize, Yara gripped his shoulders and stilled him. Not roughly, but enough so that he couldn't easily move. She loosened her hands almost immediately and bent down and kissed the nape of his neck. It made him shiver a bit, and she smoothed the sensation away with her warm, steady fingers. It felt nice despite the calloused skin on her fingertips.

Yara was very good at caring for him. And she was much more tactile than he would have expected. They used to have that in common.

He could almost hear the smile in her voice as she continued,

"Stay! I will count to three hundred. And slowly. But that will be the end of it for tonight."

He made a sound in reply and closed his eyes, enjoying his sister's ministrations and almost without feeling guilty about them, either.

Things had been better after Lord Tyrion had offered him his friendship. Not that he talked much more with anyone than he did before, but it seemed as if there was a different look in Daenerys' eyes whenever he met her questioning gaze, and Lord Tyrion would smile at him from time to time. So would others. He still hadn't found it in himself to return the smiles - a smile out in public seemed like something he couldn't have, and so, he only nodded, but it did feel good to know that people didn't seem to hate him. Not that he deserved affection or trust from anyone. But of course, Yara wouldn't have it when he succumbed to these kind of self-loathing reflections. She seemed to have an uncanny ability to read his inner thoughts. She scolded him when he was taken by self-hatred. She told him he was being too hard on himself. Just like Tyrion. It was all very kind of them.

But of course, more important matters than his well-being were at hand. By now, they were approaching the capital of the seven kingdoms. In less than a week, their fleet would attack King's Landing.

The remaining allied fleet had joined them as they had passed by Dorne. The plan was to attack the ships presumably waiting for them inside Blackwater Bay as swiftly and as mercilessly as possible and then divide their fleet into three sections, manning any usable enemy ships left. Two parts of the ships would be retreating to the Gullet, making sure no other ships could enter Blackwater Bay until power within the capital had been secured, and order restored. The other part of the ships would remain in King's Landing's port after having brought Daenerys and her army of Dothrakis and Unsullied ashore. Should a hasty retreat become necessary, those ships should be able to carry thousands of men. It would be crowded and dangerous but still possible.

The ships on Blackwater Bay would be guarding the Gullet and Dragonstone, and would be ready to intercept and destroy Euron's fleet, should their uncle be on his way.

It seemed unlikely that Euron would try to fight them this far away from Pyke. After all, their combined fleet was vast, and Euron's would be less than half their size. Building new ships not only required felling trees inland, it also required moving the heavy lumber to the rocky shores to the ironborn ship builders. In other words, doubling or increasing his fleet required time Euron didn't have. It certainly required much more time than just the mere four months which had gone by since Yara and Theon left the iron islands with a good part of the royal fleet. It had taken Theon's grandfather several years to build that Fleet.

However, it was possible that their uncle realized that he had to act swiftly. He could very well have decided to sail out with whatever ships he had left almost immediately after their escape. After all there was still a large amount of ships and crews supporting Euron in the waters surrounding the Iron Islands and anyone knew that at sea, one ironborn sailor was as effective and dangerous as twice the number from any other seafaring nation in Westeros. In other words, Euron was still a force to be reckoned with.

If Euron had remained at Pyke however, once King's Landing belonged to Daenerys, the dragon queen would travel east and north with them to the Iron Islands and help Yara take back the Seastone Chair.

And then, when it was all over, and he had kept his promise to Yara, Theon would ask Daenerys to help him restore Winterfell to its rightful owners. Yara had no interest in Winterfell or in any such quest of his, but Daenerys needed Winterfell to support her in the North.

The Starks had always resided at Winterfell, keeping law and order in this part of the realm, making sure the North supported the reigning king or queen. Theon hadn't spoken to his sister about this wish of his yet but it stood to reason that Daenerys would not accept an ally of the Lannisters to be in control of the North. Theon only wished they could go there sooner but naturally, that was not possible.

A week later, the attack on King's Landing began.

It was a rather anticlimactic event, as it ended much sooner and much easier than they had expected. The Queen's Guard, as well as the city's foot soldiers not to mention the citizens of King's Landing seemed almost relieved to lay down their arms and submit to Daenerys and her Allies. Only a few offered any token resistance and those who did were all killed off swiftly.

It turned out that a queen who was willing to not only kill her own enemies, but also relatives by marriage, let alone hundreds of innocent bystanders was not a queen people wanted to follow or fight for. Rumor had it, Cersei had even pushed out her own son, young King Tommen from the tower window in order to get the Iron Throne to herself. But prior to her public execution which took place within days after the final fights had ended, the two Lannister siblings seemed to find some semblance of mutual respect and understanding as Lord Tyrion announced to the thousands who were gathered to witness the execution that above all, Cersei was a mother. A good mother who would never harm her own children and never had. And that he hoped would she would be reunited with all of her children in the afterlife. The queen died as dignified as one could possibly die.

The following weeks seemed to go by in a flurry of new alliances, meetings, and assignments, all of which were conveyed to Theon and Yara out at sea. The two of them were onboard Black Wind, anchored out at Blackwater Bay with their separated fleet. Euron had not appeared and Yara was eager to find him and end him. Theon was more than willing to oblige. The further north they went, the closer he was to being able to help Sansa get back Winterfell.

The intel from King's Landing was sent to them by ravens on a near daily basis. The clever, and well-trained birds landed effortlessly on the railing, immediately demanding and receiving small treats before acquiescing to letting go of the scrolls tied to their legs. Once every week, a smaller ship arrived, carrying fresh food, news, as well as crew members returning from their permitted leave ashore. The ship ferried back and forth between King's Landing and their tall ships, each week taking or bringing provisions and sailors. The supplies were distributed between their ships using their own smaller rowing boats.

Yara never allowed more than a score of men in total to pay a visit to King's Landing but the crews seemed well pleased and sorted out among themselves who were to go from each of their ships. There were never any complaints.

This morning, Theon was up on deck all by himself when the raven came. The sun had only just begun to rise and while there was a man in the main mast keeping watch, everyone else were still asleep. Theon enjoyed these quiet mornings where all he had to do was stare at the ocean or the sky and inhale the fresh sea air. He was in a better mood than he had been for a long time as he approached the black bird.

He hadn't prepared for an early messenger however, and the bird was clearly displeased with the lack of treats but after getting nipped in his fingers and pecked alarmingly close to his eyes, he managed to free the letter from the cranky raven's legs. The bird cawed and basked its wings in annoyance and resumed to its perch on the railing where its odd eyes blinked at Theon. He would have to go find it something to eat.

He unrolled the scroll. The letter was from Lord Varys. It was just a few words, but they made Theon's blood run cold: One of Varys' spies in the North had stumbled upon a group of Umbers heading towards Winterfell. With them they had a young boy, a woman and a direwolf. The boy had identified himself as Rickon Stark and he was treated like an honored and welcomed guest by the group of men, the message said.

Thoughts raced through Theon's mind. Of course, Rickon would trust the Umbers. Last Hearth had always been loyal to Rickon's family. But would they still be loyal now? To whom? Theon recalled a previous message from Varys which had informed them of Greatjon Umber's death of natural causes. Theon didn't know his son Smalljon Umber well. Could the Umbers' loyalty to House Stark have changed in the years gone by? Wouldn't it have had to change with the remaining Starks either missing or powerless? Theon had heard Roose Bolton tell Ramsay how Robb had executed Lord Rickard Karstark for murdering two young Lannister cousins. Theon would have never thought that the Karstarks would go against Robb's orders but they did and killed children doing so. He closed his eyes and chased the image of the two dead children in the courtyard away. He was no better than Lord Karstark whom Robb had executed... Robb had executed Lord Karstark and as a result, the remaining Karstarks had turned away from the Starks and joined the Lannisters and the Boltons.

If _he_ could turn, if Karstarks could turn then surely Umbers could too for much less reason.

His thoughts went further back. Rickon and Bran had most likely ventured north with Osha and Hodor those long years ago just as he had expected them to. But it was clear by now that they had never reached Jon. For years, Theon had feared that they simply hadn't survived since the Boltons never received any words or news about them. Now that he knew that at least one of the Stark brothers had survived, it stood to reason that somehow, the four of them had managed to cross the Wall and venture into Wildling country. That was where that woman, Osha, came from. Thon had been so angry with himself for being fooled by her but very soon, all he felt was relief. Osha was smart. She was a survivor. She would know how to keep all of them alive and well hidden and she had done it well. But their escape from the North into Wildling territory meant that what happened south of the Wall would most likely be unbeknownst to Bran and Rickon. Something had occured that had caused them to become separated, and it would make perfect sense for Osha and Rickon to think of the Umbers as allies.

Sadly, it made even more sense to Theon that the Umbers, as soon as they had identified the boy, would deliver Rickon to the new lord of Winterfell. Whoever was Warden of the North ruled the North. There were no one else left to support but House Bolton.

It was impossible to say whether Rickon was already in the clutches of Ramsay. The news Varys had received could be weeks old already but with any luck, it was just a few days old. Ravens were swift messengers.

Theon's thoughts raced. The ship from King's Landing would arrive later that same day, he knew.

He went below deck to the galley where he found some bread and a piece of raw cod. He filled a small bowl with water and returned to the deck, carrying the treats. He watched in silence as the bird picked the food apart.

"I've a message for you," he told it when it was done. "Wait here."

It tilted its head and stared at him with its glassy, seemingly unseeing eyes. Then it almost huffed, ruffled its feathers and flew up and landed on one of the outstretched sail ropes. As it settled, it tugged its head under one wing, indicating that it had understood his order and would nap for a bit as he prepared his letter.

 _Sansa,_

 _Rickon has been found by the Umbers. I believe they will deliver him to Winterfell. Trust me when I tell you, that I will do whatever I can to keep Rickon from harm. I will travel north as swiftly as I can._

 _I have a boon to ask of you. I understand if you will choose not to grant it, but I have no choice but to ask this of you: There is a woman by the name of Ea. When Winterfell belongs to House Stark again, please offer her a position as a maid. She has a young son. I should like to see them safe from harm and the boy grow up to serve House Stark. Queen Daenerys will know where to find them._

 _Theon_


	7. Chapter 7

As quietly as possible, Theon groomed the horse. There was only a faint glow of moonlight inside the stables, but the near darkness didn't matter much to him; his hands knew where to go and thankfully the horse cooperated. Calmly he breathed into her nostrils, familiarizing her with his scent and she snorted in return. He turned and picked up the saddle and placed it onto her back and all she did, was stand completely still and allow him his ministrations. She was obviously a good girl, but it would be an exaggeration to refer to her as his "new" horse. In truth, she was an old nag. But she was well fed and she didn't seem skittish. No doubt her owner had taken good care of her throughout her long life. Many a man would have gotten rid of her years ago and the fact that her owner hadn't, pleased Theon. The horse he left behind in her place would end up with a master, who knew how to treat his animals right. Who cared about them the way Theon felt they should be cared about. He cast a final regretful look at the horse he would leave in her place. Hopefully and likely, the farmer who owned this old mare which Theon was now stealing, would not be too upset seeing her replaced with the excellent, young stallion that was now residing inside her stall.

Theon had ridden as fast as he could ever since he learned about Rickon traveling alongside Umber men. He had bought a strong and fast horse as soon as he had set foot in King's Landing, and the stallion had proven to be a very good buy. He hadn't named him, knowing that he would have to let him go when he was close to Winterfell. After all, he couldn't approach Ramsay looking like a prince or a man of any good fortune at all. Chances were that Ramsay would execute him on the spot, but there was no point in goading him into doing so, and Theon would do his best to avoid dying, just yet.

Early along the way, he had traded his fine clothes in exchange for those of a beggar's who had been more than willing to give up his filthy rags for Theon's soft boots and sturdy shirt and trousers. The clothes Theon now wore were threadbare at places and made of rough-woven, itchy wool but they were warm. He hoped Ramsay wouldn't take them from him. The boots were shorter than his own ironborn ones, and a bit too big for his feet but they didn't have any holes and as long as he wore two pairs of socks, they were more than adequate.

He had not washed himself, had not combed his hair, had not shaved his beard for weeks. He had only been stopping and taking regular breaks because of the horse's needs for rest, fresh water, and food. He'd hardly eaten anything himself. In fact, he had mostly kept away from inns and settlements, knowing that a man looking like a beggar, but riding on a horse worth more than most men would be able to afford, would attract unwanted attention. His finely crafted bow as well as his quiver stood out too, but it couldn't be helped. He needed it for protection and the occasional need for meat as he traveled north.

Thankfully, good fortune had been with him so far. The people whom he did deem safe to approach had refrained from asking questions about who he was or where he was going. In times of war, most people wisely kept their curiosity to themselves. The less you knew, the safer you were. He made sure to pay fairly but not lavishly for oats for his horse and the occasional hot meal for himself and he never stayed for more than one night.

The further north he went, the colder it became and he had resumed to winding strips of torn fabric around his hands to keep them warm until a farmer with a disapproving shake of his head, had handed Theon a pair of worn gloves. Theon had kept the strips afterwards, though. He might not be able to keep the gloves, he knew, but Ramsay never seemed to object to the bandages around his hands.

Most people he encountered allowed him to sleep inside their barns. Some even asked him to come inside their houses, but he had declined any such offers. After having been used to sleeping inside the cold kennels for years, he slept easily on the dry hay next to the warm farm animals and his horse.

Sometimes, the farmers' wives or children would bring him bread or sausage or cheese even though he had not asked for any. He never ate it all at once but brought it along with him the next morning. Such meals could last him for days. There was always plenty of water to drink of course, and he knew from experience that he could go on for a long time as long as he were allowed to drink.

He shook his head trying not to think too much about what kind of life he was willingly returning to. If he began to speculate too much about it, he couldn't help but feeling terrified. He knew that Yara had to be angry with him. Disappointed too. He had told her that he wanted to go ashore and she had seemed so pleased to hear it. She likely thought that he was finally making an effort, trying to enjoy himself for a change. Naturally, he hadn't told her about what he intended to do, knowing that she would only want to prevent him from leaving. He had briefly considered asking her for help but saving a Stark boy would not matter to her. Besides, she had already risked her life once for his sake. She had watched men die because of him. He couldn't ask her for more sacrifices. He'd left a note for her under the jar with the ointment she still regularly treated him with knowing she used it on herself from time to time.

He had also contemplated informing Daenerys and Lord Tyrion. But while Daenerys might be interested in keeping Rickon Stark alive in order to strengthen her future bonds with The North, moving an army of thousands of men took time. Time which he didn't have. And he doubted she would want to go with him on a mission to Winterfell, the two of them riding one of her dragons. The idea alone was ludicrous. Not just because it sounded like something from old Nan's tales but because Daenerys needed to stay in King's Landing along with her dragons. It was a visible sign of the change of power and of her strength, in particular. Anyone who saw the queen with her dragons had to recognize her as their sole ruler.

In the end, Daenerys would have to conquer the rest of Westeros, but it would take several months, perhaps half a year or longer, before Daenerys' army would reach the North. And Theon knew Ramsay. Each day as a captive of Ramsay's meant unspeakable horrors. He couldn't bear for Rickon to either witness or endure any of them. The only way to try to end it was this way. It would cost him his own life but hopefully, it would buy him Rickon's and then it would all be worth it.

A few days later, Theon shed his quiver and bow by the same river that he and Sansa had crossed during their escape. It was not the exact same spot of course. This time he wasn't running frantically through rows of trees but was traveling along one of the old roads. He had reached one of the bridges and was grateful that neither his horse nor he had to wade into the icy waters in order to cross the running stream.

There was no need for the horse anymore and so he removed the saddle and the harness, fed her one last time and scared her off in the direction in which they had come from. With any luck, she might know her way back to her master.

It would take him at least the rest of the day to reach Winterfell on foot. He opened the bag with his remaining leftovers and drew out a piece of hard, yellow cheese. He began to chew on it slowly, savoring the flavor, appreciating each bite and swallow, before he took the first step out onto the bridge. One determined step took another as he began his final journey.

 _Yara,_

 _I have to become the man you say you believe me to be._

 _I'm honored to call you my sister. I hope someday you will be honored to call me your brother._

 _Theon_

Theon dragged himself over to the corner of the kennel and curled up as he heard the gate being locked.

Reopened wounds, cuts and bruises covered his body. But he was here. And he was alive. There had not been many questions directed his way for which he was grateful. It seemed that Ramsay had all the answers he thought he needed. As he had been pushed down on his knees before Ramsay, he had dared to glance up just briefly and was met by a shining look of mad glee in his old Master's face. Try as he might, he hadn't been able to stop his eyes from welling up from sheer terror at seeing that mad stare again.

"I knew you would come back," Ramsay had said. "I knew you would remember who you belong to. Remember what you are."

And Theon had nodded and stammered and in the end screamed and taken what was dealt to him.

Whether Rickon was here, he couldn't tell. Ramsay had not mentioned the boy.

It struck him that maybe he had been wrong all along and the Umbers hadn't delivered the boy to Ramsay at all. Or worse, maybe Rickon was dead already and it was all for nothing. Another wasted effort at trying to do a grand thing and instead blowing it all to pieces.

What a bloody fool he was! A bloodied, tired, frightened fool. It required every bit of strength he had to try and hang on to his wits. If Rickon _was_ here, he needed them.

He closed his eyes and thought of the ocean, recalling the way the ship would roll on the waves, sensing the phantom movements in his aching body until he finally fell asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Every afternoon, Sansa walked along the camp just before the sun set. The long hours of horseback riding and the cold nights on the hard, uncomfortable pallet inside her tent took its toll on her body, and walking eased some of the soreness. Her breath came out misty and grey, and her nose turned bright red from the icy temperatures.

Still, this discomfort was nothing compared to her escape from Winterfell with Theon. Running through heavy snow, wading into the river with water up to your chest and dangerously strong undercurrents all of which she had only survived thanks to Theon. She might have been able to do it if she had been wearing breeches but her long and heavy skirt was not suited for those kinds of obstacles. She prayed that she would never have to be that exhausted again in her life.

Snow had fallen only a few hours ago, but by now the sky was clear. The low hanging sun made her squint as its final rays hit her face. They offered no warmth. She felt cold all the time, inside and out. She had been feeling cold for years, it seemed. And now, ever since Ramsay's letter had arrived, sensations of urgency and despair tore at her, making matters worse. She wanted Ramsay dead and defeated, and she would not stop before Winterfell belonged to her family again. But she couldn't help worrying about Rickon every waking minute. What he must live through, what he must suffer. After all, she knew Ramsay. She knew how he needed his sadistic pleasures and games, how he needed to hurt people every day, and how he...

She stopped dead in her tracks.

" _I want my bride back. Send her to me, Bastard, and I will not trouble you or your wildling lovers,_ " the letter from Ramsay had read.

" _I want my bride back."_

Ramsay had not mentioned anything about his "Reek..."

Sansa felt a sudden unease. _Why_ had Ramsay not mentioned Theon? Theon, who had been his slave, and whom Ramsay always kept close at hand? Whom he obviously took sick pleasure in ordering about, controlling, tormenting, and humiliating? Ramsay used her every night, but she had no doubt that he used and abused Theon just as cruelly and more.

Ramsay had needed Theon in his sick and twisted ways even more than he had needed her, and yet he hadn't mentioned "Reek" at all in his letter. And he would have, she suddenly knew he would. The fact that he hadn't, meant that either Ramsay was aware that Theon had left her. Or it meant that he had somehow gotten Theon back. But that shouldn't be possible. Couldn't be possible. When she had gotten word from Theon, he had been in Meereen, making a pact with Daenerys Targaryen. They planned to sail to Westeros and take King's Landing from the Lannisters. And the capital was a long way from Winterfell.

There was no way, Theon could be back in the north. No, surely Ramsay had found out that Theon wasn't with her and that was the only logical explanation as to why he hadn't demanded "Reek" to be returned to him as well.

But she couldn't quite get rid of a sense of dread as she hurried back to her tent, seeking comfort inside the darkness.

 _The raven fell to the ground, shrieking. The boy who shot her whooped in delight as she crashed ungracefully down on the riverbank. She had a small canister containing a scroll tied to one of her legs, and she died as the boy pulled it off of her. Fingers pried open the canister but the boy couldn't read, and he threw both scroll and bird into the river and watched as the current carried them away. She had been a practice target to him, and nothing else. Ravens didn't taste good. The boy went in search for more live prey to practice his bow and arrow skills on. He hoped he might catch something edible today. A fat duck perhaps. It would please Mother and the little ones. Meat was scarce after Father had passed away…_

 _Soon, the ink was washed away as the paper dissolved._

"Reek, get up!"

It was Master's voice and the familiar sound made Theon shoot up from his position in repose as fast as he could, even if he was only half awake. The ingrained reaction to do as Ramsay commanded had saved him many times before but now as he stood slightly swaying on his feet, he was also quietly disgusted by it.

But Ramsay being here, asking for him, was a good thing. Ever since he'd been thrown back in here, the door to the pen had been locked. He'd been given a few scraps of bread, and a bucket of water. He hadn't expected as much and had gratefully eaten the food.

A few of Ramsay's men had been by to gawk at him from time to time. It was always a good laugh to go taunt Ramsay's pet and it was even more hilarious that the pet had returned on its own. Their taunting was nothing new to him. It had happened many times before and it was of no matter. One had calmly pissed in through the bars and while unpleasant that too was nothing new. Theon had moved away from the spray as far as he could.

He had, however, sagged with relief when this man didn't move to do anything else. Some of them liked to use him hard and the beatings he had taken once he had been delivered in front of Ramsay that first day made it hard for him to defend himself in any way. Of course, any such actions were dangerous and pointless anyway. Reek would never resist.

Other men coming in here hadn't been as kind as the pissing onlooker but Theon had managed to simply let his body and mind accept whatever happened to him. It had taken a lot of effort but he had gotten through it. So far.

Ramsay, however hadn't visited in what must have been a week and Theon quickly moved to push open the barred door in order to do as his master bid him. The door as it turned out remained locked.

"Ah-uh," Ramsay tutted, and Theon immediately let go of the bars. He dared take a quick peek up at Ramsay's face trying to gauge what the man wanted from him. What game he was playing.

"Give me your hands," ordered Ramsay and, shakily Theon extended his hands, palms upwards through the bars, towards Ramsay. Ramsay knew what kind of reaction that particular order always elicited in Theon and Theon knew how Ramsay reveled in seeing his fear.

As expected, Ramsay smirked at the sight of Theon's slightly shaking hands.

"Put these on," he said and placed a pair of ankle chains in one of Theon's hands. Theon quickly pulled the chains back into the cell and did as he was told. He handed back the small key to Ramsay as soon as he was done.

"Good," Ramsay said. "Now come," and he unlocked the door to the pen.

Theon stumbled after Ramsay as best he could, his injuries and the short chain between his legs hampering his every movement. Ramsay smiled whenever he tripped but that was to be expected.

As soon as they were out in the cold courtyard Ramsay told him to begin working. He stood still for few seconds, confused at first but then he nodded obediently. He crossed the courtyard and picked up a broom. At first his hobbled feet made him trip and fall but he did what he was told and never stopped working. He swept the courtyard, took away horse shit, mucked out the stables, fed the dogs with the leftovers from the kitchen. He did all the things he used to do when he was truly Reek, and all the while Ramsay kept a close eye on him. Come evening, once he had fetched clean water for both dogs and horses, Ramsay ordered him inside.

The dining hall in Winterfell had never been a pleasant place while being occupied by the Boltons, but now it was a positively eerie room with Ramsay sitting all by himself at the great table. Theon quietly served Ramsay his food and poured him his wine and stood in attendance in the corner as always. His stomach rumbled in hunger as he listened to Ramsay's noisy consumption of meat and vegetables. Roose Bolton had never been able to hide his distaste for his son's loud eating habits when they dined but he'd never openly corrected Ramsay, either. Theon's stomach rumbling however, was often a point of conversation. Roose complaining that Ramsay starved the creature ruining Roose's appetite, and Ramsay becoming incensed. It never ended with Theon being given more food. It wouldn't tonight either.

Once Ramsay was done eating, he bade Theon come with him upstairs to his private chamber. The stairway was difficult to ascend hobbled as he was but he managed. Inside Ramsay's room, a steaming tub stood ready. Of course. Another one of Ramsay's favorite activities.

"I'm sure you understand that I seem to have lost at least some of my previous trust in you, Reek. The leg chains stay on. You are perfectly capable of working despite them so it shouldn't matter, am I not right?"

"Yes, Master," he agreed.

"Good. Now help me undress."

Theon was almost thankful for being here, chains or no chains, and he refused to feel pathetic for thinking so. He knew how to do all of this and being allowed inside Ramsay's chambers meant that he might be able to gain his lord's trust again. And he needed that trust. But thoughts were dangerous, and he lowered his eyes carefully as he helped Ramsay into his bath. He held no illusions of being able to fool the man if Ramsay looked him in the eyes for too long. Ramsay had an uncanny ability to read Theon's mind. Even as Theon thought these words, a part of him knew that they weren't true at all. Ramsay was not an omniscient being. He was not a god. All he was, was a human who had ruined Theon by being cruel, abusive, manipulative. Mad and blood thirsty. But it had been Theon's guilt, his pathetic state, and his eventually ruined mind from so much torture and starvation that gave his thoughts away to Ramsay, all too often.

Believing himself to be Theon again, being a person was such a new notion to him however, and he still couldn't quite shake the feeling that Ramsay would be able to see right through him and read his mind.

He silently knelt beside the tub and took a piece of soap into his hands. He diligently worked up a foamy lather and began working it into Ramsay's wet hair. He took care to massage Ramsay's scalp just right and the subsequent low hums of satisfaction from the man told him he did well.

The motions were almost mechanical. He knew them so well, had been here so many times, had done this too many times to count. He took the pitcher, filled it with the warm water from the tub, and rinsed his former master's hair. Then he soaped and massaged the face, the neck, the arms. Rinse, repeat, next part. He knew Ramsay's eyes followed his every movement and he did his best not to flinch as old familiar feelings of terror rolled over him causing him to twitch slightly. Ramsay watching anyone was never a good thing. Ramsay watching him/i for too long meant pain.

As he was rubbing a foot, Ramsay's arm shot out of the water and grabbed his hair, pulling his head back hard. He winced and carefully let go of Ramsay's foot.

"What happened that day?"

Carefully he replied,

"I panicked, Master. Myranda confronted L-lady Sansa. And then she... she fell and she was dead. When I heard you return from the battle field, I got scared, Master. It... it all happened so fast, and I couldn't think properly! I'm sorry, Master!"

Ramsay pulled his hair harder forcing Theon's back to arc backwards. Water from his hands, no longer submerged in the tub, dripped down onto his thighs and the stone floor. He made sure to keep perfectly still. Limp.

"You think that I don't know that it was either you or that sweet wife of mine who pushed her over the railing?"

Theon did not answer and Ramsay's grip on his hair tightened and his other hand came to close around Theon's throat.

"Where have you been? And why did you come back here?"

"Home," he whispered.

"To your shitty islands? What made you think your sister would have you back?"

He spoke as truthfully as possible. It seemed safest.

"I didn't know where else to go," he said hoarsely. "I didn't want to be alone, and I didn't want to go further north. When I got to Pyke, my sister, Yara, wasn't pleased to see me. She had thought of me as dead. And... I believe she was right. I don't know how to be ironborn anymore. I don't know how to be her brother. Not one, that she deserves. I don't feel like Theon Greyjoy. I'm not Theon Greyjoy."

Here in front of Ramsay, saying his name out loud was difficult in particular and his pulse seemed to push hard against Ramsay's hand. Still, he continued,

"All I know is to be here with you, Master. Where I belong. Where I can be Reek. Your Reek."

Ramsay yanked his hair once more causing more tears to sting Theon's eyes and his nails raked Theon's throat. But then he abruptly let go of him.

Theon could hear Ramsay sit back in the tub bit didn't dare turn his head.

The man sighed in satisfaction behind him.

"That's right, Reek. You're exactly where you belong again."

There was a short burst of laughter. "I can't believe you attempted to be a lord again. I mean, how absurd is that?"

"I don't know, Master."

"I'm still very disappointed in you. But I must admit, Reek, I do enjoy having you back here with me."

"Thank you, Master."

"Well, what's stopping you? Go on, continue what you were doing. My other foot needs a good rub, too."

"Reek? I have something I want to show you. Come with me."

It had only been a few days since he'd arrived. His legs were still hobbled but the door to his pen was no longer locked and he quickly made to follow Ramsay. On their way, they made a stop at the kitchen where Ramsay told him to bring a large loaf of bread and a few roasted neeps. Theon's stomach rumbled but the food wasn't for him.

They went to the crypts and as they descended, Theon knew what he was finally going to see. His heart thumbed heavily in his chest. They turned a corner and there he was; Rickon Stark. Chained to a wall. Fully clothed, seemingly unhurt but pale and thin. They had given him a blanket, thank the gods. The boy stared up at them fearfully. Theon made sure to keep his head bowed watching Rickon out of the corner of his eyes.

"Do you recognize him, Reek?"

He glanced up briefly locking eyes with Rickon. "I do, my lord."

"Who are you?" A young voice but not a child's anymore.

Rickon's voice. How strange to hear him speak with a voice that had slightly begun to change from a boy's to a man's. So much time lost.

"He's Reek, my young lord Stark. But he knew you of a long time ago. You won't remember him. Reek, give the lord his food."

Theon carefully placed the bread and the vegetables at the boys feet.

Rickon grabbed the food but otherwise ignored him.

"When do I get to leave here," he asked Ramsay. "It's so cold down here. Please, take me upstairs, Ser. I won't run, I swear."

"Of course not. But you will get to come out and run very soon, Lord Stark. I promise you."


	9. Chapter 9

More and more men arrived at Winterfell as the days went by. Men wearing heavy armor and carrying long swords, bows, spears, and arrows. Bringing with them food supplies for both men and horses. Men, who fought under Umber or Karstark banners and whose families had been in support of House Stark for centuries but who by now had sworn their allegiances to the new Warden of the North, Ramsay Bolton.

Theon watched their arrivals in silence from through the window behind bars in his cage inside the kennel and grew steadily more worried. Ramsay's army grew larger every day and was preparing for either a battle or a siege and from the looks of it, they would be able to hold and defend Winterfell for a long, long time.

Ramsay hadn't spoken much to Theon since he had taken him down to see Rickon, nor had he allowed Theon to function as his usual man servant. This meant that Theon didn't get to serve Ramsay his dinner, which was usually where Theon got his bits of information as he listened in on Ramsay's conversations. He had to guess who Ramsay and his banner men were preparing to fight and who else  
could it be but Jon? Who else was left in the entire North willing and able to go against Ramsay?

Jon was Lord Commander of Castle Black. Before Ramsay decided to keep Reek locked up inside the kennel most of the time, Theon had overheard an Umber telling a Karstark how the new Lord Commander had made a pact with wildlings. This was the reason why the Umbers had turned to Ramsay Bolton for protection in the first place and it was also the reason why they had handed over Rickon Stark as soon as the young boy had showed up at their doorstep.

Theon was far too malnourished and in far too much constant pain to fully comprehend what it all meant but still, he couldn't help but marvel at this news.

A pact with wildlings. Jon Snow had made a pact with the enemy he had sworn to protect the North from.

When Ned Stark was executed, Jon never left the Watch but kept his wows. When Theon took Winterfell, Jon didn't come to seek out revenge. When Robb was butchered by Roose Bolton and the Freys, Jon stayed put at the Wall. And yet Jon had made a pact with wildlings which showed that he too had been forced to begin to think for himself and change his ways. That he too had come to the realization that changing ways were necessary in order to survive. The thought pleased Theon and made him almost hopeful.

With luck Sansa had received Theon's letter informing her about Rickon's possible capture. Once she learned that Ramsay had possibly taken Rickon captive, Sansa would do anything in her power to find out if it were true and once confirmed, to save her brother.

If Sansa was reunited with Jon as he hoped she was, Jon would learn about Ramsay and his atrocities and Sansa would let Jon know what Ramsay would do to Rickon. Jon would learn about what Ramsay had done to her as well and Theon grimaced in pain from the memories.

Sansa's testimony would make her half-brother want to go south despite his wows to remain at the Wall. Of that Theon felt certain. And Jon would do whatever he could to win back Winterfell and save Rickon, both for the sake of his brother but also for Sansa's sake, and for the memory of Ned Stark. Maybe even for Jon himself as well. Jon had always dreamed of belonging to Winterfell just like Theon had. He had had dreams of being accepted as a real Stark, a trueborn son of Ned Stark's. Of course, Lady Catelyn and Ned Stark had never allowed for that to happen, but Theon had recognized the longing in Jon's eyes, although Jon did his best to hide it. He couldn't fool Theon though because Theon clearly saw his own hopes and dreams mirrored in Jon's- a fact that used to anger him. Now, he realized that he and Jon ought to have supported one another instead of fighting each other. They ought to have become friends. Instead Theon had done his best to distance him from the bastard in order to feel superior not to mention closer to the Starks. What a fool he had been. As it were, there was no lost love between the two of them but none of it mattered. After all, it wasn't him they would be coming to save.

Once Sansa had spoken to Jon, Jon and Sansa would try to gather support from more northernes although there weren't many left. His sister had seen to that as had the Boltons themselves. And while a man as tainted and twisted as Ramsay Bolton could not and should not be allowed to reside at Winterfell as Warden of the North, Theon fervently hoped that Jon wouldn't make a rash decision and venture south without enough trained warriors to accompany him.

Sansa would no doubt finally treat Jon as her true brother now, and hopefully that would make Jon listen to her in earnest. She was no longer the young girl full of naïve and romantic dreams that she had once been. She was a woman grown and she knew only too well what a danger Ramsay was. Hopefully, she would make Jon understand that Ramsay was never to be underestimated. Sansa had seen firsthand how Ramsay had laid waste Stannis Baratheon's army with fewer men than were currently gathering at Winterfell. Taking Winterfell back would require more trained warriors than Jon could muster with his watchers and half-trained wildlings from Castle Black and a few scattered Houses. If Jon didn't understand this, any attack would only lead towards utter disaster and Rickon's untimely death. Of that Theon felt certain.

Theon could only hope that his own chance to make a difference would come, and that he would be able to free Rickon before any such siege or battle took place in the first place. But so far, no such opportunity had presented itself. In fact, it seemed unlikely that it would ever come, and his condition was fast deteriorating.

Theon kept being shackled and Ramsay hadn't taken him to see the boy again. As it were, Theon spent each day inside his cage in the kennels. Ramsay didn't allow him outside to do the usual menial tasks anymore and come evening, the door to his cell would be unlocked by a few of Ramsay's men and he would be escorted up to Ramsay's chambers.

He believed he understood why the rules had suddenly changed.

 _He suspects that I'm not truly his Reek. He must have seen something in my eyes. He must have._

Ramsay himself had only raped him a few times back when Theon was truly Ramsay's Reek. Ramsay always preferred his girls over men - something that Reek used to feel grateful for until Sansa arrived but now, now, raping his Reek had become a nightly ritual.

Theon would arrive at Ramsay's door, the men following him snickering behind his back. Then Ramsay's voice would sound, "Is my lay ready for me," and the men would reply, "aye, Ser, he is!" and laugh and shove Theon in through the open doorway. The heartless push made tears sting his eyes as it felt so unnecessary to want to humiliate him even more than he already was. As Theon's legs were hobbled by the ankle chains, the hard shove would make him stumble and fall much to Ramsay's and the men's delight.

"Tsk, my clumsy Reek. Get up and come here!"

And Theon would get back up, shuffle over, head bowed and shaking. Behind him, the men would close the door but only if Ramsay remembered to tell them so.

He didn't know quite which was worse: knowing what was to come or stripping slowly down in front of Ramsay and whichever audience was behind him peeking in. He hated being scrutinized by the mocking look in Ramsay's eyes. He hated that Ramsay wouldn't let him hurry and get it over with. He loathed how Ramsay's eyes would roam over his ruined, and pitiful body. How Theon's britches would hang loosely and stupidly around his scrawny ankles, hindered by the ankle chains to come off entirely. Hated how he would have to stand there shivering, exposed, and afraid, and most of all, humiliated. It shouldn't be possible to humiliate him anymore but his few months away from Ramsay had made him remember what it meant to be viewed as a real person again. He used to be proud of how he looked before he was handed over to Ramsay by his own men. He was never a huge man, but he had been healthy, fit and whole. At the time, he'd already hated himself but his body had been the one thing that didn't make him feel lacking.

All of which, Ramsay was soon fully aware of, of course.

Theon had brokenly confessed anything to Ramsay during the early months of torture. Anything that he imagined was of interest to Ramsay and that might make the pain and torment stop. That was before he fully understood that Ramsay didn't find anything, he had to say interesting in any way whatsoever and that all that Ramsay truly cared about was tormenting him and reducing him to nothing.

Theon had given him all of him. Told him anything that felt important, always hoping that this or that piece of his innermost thoughts or this or that corner of his broken heart was what his torturer was looking for. It never was, of course, and Ramsay had relentlessly slashed, and hacked, and flayed and burned him, marred him head to toe until Theon's body was nothing but a display of senseless cruelty beyond repair. What was left of his sex was hideous to look at, and a joke that Ramsay never seemed to tire of. Theon understood all of this now and he also understood that it wasn't his complete ruin of a body that turned Ramsay on or made Ramsay act. At times, Ramsay didn't even come while he was busy ripping into Theon. But then, it was never truly about sex but about dominance. It was about Theon's obvious pain, and his total surrender.

Afterwards, Theon would be crumpled on the floor or thrown over the bed or a table, panting and whimpering in pain or discomfort, often bleeding inside and out. That would be amusing only for so long to Ramsay who would then quickly dismiss him, with nothing but ice and disdain left in his eyes.

"Get up, Reek. Get your clothes back on. You look like a fool! Get out of here and be quick about it. You disgust me."

And he would collect and don his rags as fast as he could and limp towards the door whichever way he could manage. Outside again, the men would be waiting, laughing or jeering. They would grab him by his elbows and drag him down the stairs and outside and throw him back into the kennels unless they wanted a go too. In that case, he would be thrown roughly down onto the floor, his pants yanked down once more.

Sometimes, he couldn't manage to do as they told him which was to get up and remain on hands and knees and that slight would earn him a considerable share of kicks and cuffs. In the end he would be fucked viciously anyway, the dogs barking furiously, overpowering the grunting from the men and his owns cries of pain.

This was what his life had come to.

This was all that Ramsay's Reek was currently good for.

A horrible despair filled him. He would never be able to help Rickon get away from this place.

Why did he ever think he would be able to make a difference? Ramsay would never give him a chance. And he would never get to see the people he loved again either. He would never see Sansa, never get to hold his little son's hand, never get to see his sister again.

Theon curled up on the dirty straw. What had he done? Why had he done it?

Yara nodded and left Lord Varys, and Daenerys.

She seldomly cried and she didn't cry now either.

She was far too angry to shed any tears for her useless prick or rather cunt of a brother. What in the drowned god's sunken halls had he been thinking? Stupid, idiotic, dumb… terribly brave brother of hers!

Oh, but she hoped with everything in her that he was still alive! So she could throttle him... Or hug him.

Tightly.

"Come, Reek. We're going for ride."

"A ride, Master," he whispered. It seemed that was all he was capable of doing these days. Whisper and scream.

"Yes, Reek," Ramsay cheerfully replied. "A ride. I've a meeting to attend to. An important meeting, and I want you to accompany me. Here," and he threw the key to the ankle chains in Theon's direction, "unchain yourself and be quick about it and get out of there."

Theon was dizzy from starvation and thirst and he fumbled for a while with the lock, which earned him an unpleased harrumph from Ramsay which in turn made him whimper. But eventually, the chains came off, and he limped outside of his cage. He followed his master, head bowed and heart thumping heavily in his chest.

Men on horses, carrying Bolton banners stood waiting for the two of them.

"Is his horse ready," Ramsay asked.

"Yes, my lord" a stable boy replied, and an old mare was brought before them. No saddle, just a bridle to which a rope was attached. Ramsay mounted his own horse and took the proffered rope from the stable boy holding the horse.

"Tie his hands behind his back," he instructed the boy and threw a smaller piece of rope at the boy.

"Make sure it's tight!"

The boy did as he was told. Theon offered no resistance.

"Get up on the horse, Reek," Ramsay ordered.

Theon stared up at the horse's back, and then back at Ramsay. "My lord, I can't. I'm sorry. It's too tall. My hands…"

"Someone get him op on that bloody horse and do it now!"

The stable boy and another man scrambled to follows Ramsay's orders. Once Theon was astride the horse, Ramsay nodded in satisfaction.

"Hood him," he instructed.

"No, please, my lord, please don't!" Theon's chest was heaving.

"Shut your mouth, Reek. You're not going to fall off, and I will lead you so you don't need to see where you're going. And if you were to fall off that would be the least of your problems. Hood him," he barked at the stable boy.

"And Reek, not a word more from you, is that understood?"

As the dark hood was pulled over Theon's head, he couldn't stop the tears in his eyes from falling nor hold back the small sob from escaping his lips. But he sat very still. Obedient Reek. That's all he was. That's what he had to be.

To his relief, he soon discovered that enough daylight passed through the fabric for him to have an inkling of what was up and down, and that he could vaguely see figures moving around him, too.

It was enough to calm him down and stop him from panicking. He was not alone, he was not back on the saltire, and he could see just barely which was far, far better than not at all.

"Alright then, let's go meet Ned Stark's bastard," Ramsay declared cheerfully, and they set out through the gates of Winterfell.

Sansa rode towards Winterfell next to her brother. She tried not to feel afraid, but she was. She knew that Ramsay wouldn't be able to hurt her but seeing him this close again made her blood run cold.

They had gathered as many men as they could, and it was not enough. She knew it. Ramsay had to know it and Jon knew it as well but he was stubborn and proud. And afraid for Rickon, of course. But unless a miracle occurred nothing would or could save her brother now.

"Stop," Jon said. "No further, let him come to us."

They spotted the small delegation riding out from Winterfell. It took nearly half an hour before Ramsay and his small entourage reached them.

"Jon," Sansa exclaimed, seeing the hooded and bound prisoner following closely behind Ramsay.

"I see him. Do you think it's Rickon," Jon asked.

"I don't know. I haven't seen Rickon since I left Winterfell. Since the day, I last saw you. Years ago," she said. "but.. who else could it be? If it is him, we have to take him!"

Jon furrowed his brow but said no more.

Soon, Ramsay and his men reached them.

"My beloved wife," Ramsay said. "I've missed you terribly.

 _Sansa._ Sansa was here. Theon's mind reeled.

Ramsay looked at Jon. "Thank you for returning lady Bolton safely. Now, dismount and kneel before me. Surrender your army and proclaim me the true Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. I will pardon you for deserting the Night's Watch. I will pardon these treasonous lords for betraying my house!"

"Come, bastard. You don't have the men. You don't have the horses. And you don't have Winterfell. Why lead those poor souls in to slaughter? There's no need for a battle. Get off your horse. Kneel. I am a man of mercy."

Jon replied, "You're right. There's no need for a battle. Thousands of men don't need to die. Only one of us.

"Let's end this the old way. You against me."

Ramsay chuckled.

"I keep hearing stories about you, bastard. The way people in the North talk about you, you're the greatest swordsman who ever walked.

"Maybe you are that good. Maybe not. I don't know if I'd beat you. But I know that my army will beat yours. I have six thousand men. You have... what, half that? Not even?"

"Aye," Jon replied, "you have the numbers. Will your men want to fight for you when they hear you would not fight for them?"

Inside his hood, Theon quivered. But then he heard Ramsay reply,

"He's good! Very good! Tell me: will you let your little brother die because you're too proud to surrender?"

Sansa's voice cut through. "How do we know you have him? It that him you've brought with you?"

"No, I'm afraid not, my lady wife. I'm not stupid! This one's another one who belongs to me, just like you do," and he backed his horse so that it was next to Theon's and pulled off the hood.

"Theon," Sansa breathed. Theon couldn't tell whether she was shocked or disappointed.

"Theon?" Ramsay tsked.

"I'm afraid there's no Theon here, only my loyal servant, Reek. Now Reek here returned to me of his own free will but a few weeks ago. Reek knows his duties after all. Knows whom he belongs to. As should you. However, as a precaution, we still keep him restrained. It does take time to regain my trust completely."

Sansa frowned, her eyes shining. Theon glanced up at her, feeling a pang once their eyes met. He quickly looked down again. She looked shocked and sad. Hadn't she received his message?

To Sansa's credit, she didn't waver for too long.

"I'm sorry to see him back with you, lord Bolton. But let me repeat my question, how do we know you have our brother?"

"I could let Reek here confirm it. He's seen him but perhaps that's too boring and - well, you know Reek, my Lady. Reek would say anything I wanted him to, really." Ramsay chuckled. "Quite silly of me to bring him when you think about it but I thought it would please you to seem him again. As for proof," Ramsay gestured to Smalljon Umber, who reached behind his saddle and tossed Shaggydog's mouldering head onto the field between the riders.

Ramsay's face lit up in his usual cruel smile at the looks upon Sansa and Jon's faces.

"Now, if you want to save…"

Sansa didn't let him finish his sentence.

"You're going to die tomorrow, Lord Bolton.

"Sleep well."

And with that, she turned her horse around and left. Theon was happy to see her go. The farther away she got from Ramsay, the better.

"She's a fine woman, your sister. I look forward to having her back in my bed."

Theon glanced up and saw Jon's expression. Dark and sad, and grim. _Jon would die before Ramsay had his wife back. So would I. Why did she come here?_

Too soon, they were riding back towards Winterfell, leaving Jon and his allies behind. There was to be a battle. Tomorrow. A battle Jon could never hope to win.

"Come with me, Reek," Ramsay said as Theon awkwardly slid off his horse inside the courtyard.

They went back into the kennel where Ramsay cut off the ropes around Theon's wrists and ordered him to put on the ankle chains once more. Theon did that immediately and afterwards, obediently handed Ramsay the key once more.

"She's a pretty one, my wife. I'd all but forgotten. I don't find myself in the mood of taking you tonight. You're a rather poor excuse for a proper fuck, I must say."

"Sorry, my lord."

"I've moved the young Stark boy from the crypts. He's in the dungeons now. You will tell him that it's crucial that he does as he is told tomorrow if he wants to live, do you understand?"

Theon could only nod his assent.


End file.
